


Viziúne

by autumnmycat



Series: Viciile de Dragoste [1]
Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Canon Compliant, Eventual Fluff, Feelings Realization, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Self-Harm, Sickfic, Survivor Guilt, how did this turn into a sickfic lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-08-21 00:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16565702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnmycat/pseuds/autumnmycat
Summary: Sypha had said that Alucard's sadness is like an icy well that swallows up anything dropped into it, but as he spends his days alone in the castle that used to be his childhood home, he fears that the memories he had dropped in are beginning to crawl back out.





	1. Singur

**Author's Note:**

> After crying over Alucard and getting upset that he was left behind, I figured I should pull all the angst I could out of him before this turns into a shippy disaster ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> singur, adj.   
> 1\. single, lone, only, sole  
> 2\. alone

There must have been something wrong with him, Alucard decided.

Sypha had said so herself. Even though she thought he had been out of earshot, he wasn’t, not for a dhampir, at least. He heard her describe his sadness as a bottomless, icy well that swallowed up anything dropped into it. He was a lonely, cold spot in a room. How utterly dreadful.

The statements had brought about a twisted feeling of discomfort, the discomfort typically associated with overhearing someone speaking frankly about him. On one hand, he wasn’t sure what she meant since he was just being himself and not trying to seem overtly melancholy. But, on the other hand, he knew exactly what she meant.

He stood there, trying his best to feign a smile as he watched Trevor and Sypha ride off together, but none of the feelings that had amassed inside him could be described as pleasant. For that, he felt guilty. He knew he should have been happy for them, excited for the adventures they would have, but he was frozen over. He was that icy well that Sypha had described, but he’d accidentally thrown everything he had down into it, and now he felt like he’d been hollowed out from the inside.

No wonder they had wanted to leave so quickly. He must have been awful to be around.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to go with them, but he had a duty to take care of the castle, to take care of the Belmont’s library. Maybe it was better this way after all. He certainly wouldn’t be bothering anyone with his sadness when he was all alone.

(The thought was almost enough to make him flinch.)

Alucard stood amongst the damage, the debris, the chaos of the castle. Everything was such a mess. Even though there was a stillness and a peacefulness to the ruins, it all felt absolutely monumental. He couldn’t bear to look at it, let alone deal with it. But, fortunately, he had all the time in the world to work on cleaning up. Yes, he could work on it for all of eternity if no one killed him, as haunting as the idea was.

Everything was upsetting, but it was even harder to think about the tasks ahead when he still hurt from their battle. His father had gifted him the ability to heal much faster than full-fledged humans, but his father also could hurt him far worse than anyone else. His head had been aching since it was slammed into concrete a few too many times. Everything felt bruised, inside and out. And, worst of all, he was exhausted. Just so, so tired. How he was still standing, even Alucard wasn’t quite sure.

While he managed to ignore the echo of his shoes clicking on the steps, he wasn’t able to ignore the vague outline of what was probably supposed to be his father walking down the opposite staircase. He couldn’t decide if the castle was haunted or if the parallels between his own life and Dracula’s were too ironically similar for the universe to pass up offering its own commentary. Either way, something twisted in his chest and made his entire body tense.

“Is this how you felt before she came…?”

What a lonely existence. Nothing but himself and this _place._ It used to be home, but now, it felt nothing even remotely close to that. It was just a castle, one he used to live in.

( _You killed your own father._ )

The outline faded, and he continued walking up the stairs, shaking his head so the thought would leave him alone.

He walked down the stretches of hallways and peered into each room, seeing how much damage had been done to them. Every single room he passed had all but been destroyed. It forced him to think about the sheer immensity of what had occurred, of what he had done.

( _You killed your own father._ )

Maybe that was why he found himself in his father’s study—(everything was a mess)—and felt the urge to at least prop up his chair. But, even that simple action exhausted him—(there was so much for him to do, and he was just so tired)—so he sat down, staring at the hallway in a daze.

This place was littered with memories. Every time he let his mind wander off, there was a different figure in his vision. He could almost see himself running down the halls, frolicking with his mother. He remembered a time when she would smile and laugh at him and he would smile and laugh back.

(But, those years were gone—just like his mother and just like his father.)

It hit him, then. All at once. His grieving and anger and despair clashed together in a cacophony of emotion, tears streaming down his face. They pattered on his hand and on his lap, soaking into the fabric of his tunic. Tears, and tears, and tears. When was the last time he let himself cry like this? When, if ever, was the last time he felt the immense weight of his sorrow crush him flat against the earth? He couldn’t remember. Maybe he had never cried in his life, and this was the first time he had done so. Maybe he’d never felt pain until this moment.

He’d been badly injured before, but somehow, this pain was worse. His chest ached—an ache that couldn’t be relieved as easily as a physical wound. It ached so painfully, he wondered if he was going to vomit or if he was going to rip open and all of his organs would fall out and roll around on the ground. But, the only thing that came out of him was water from the faucets in his eyes and the sound of a grown man trying to hold back his sobs.

How pitiful. Truly pitiful. He’d been reduced to a truly pitiful being. If Sypha had thought he was a cold spot in the room before, what would she think of him now? Had the well completely frozen over, trapping himself inside it? Or, was he a cyclone that sucked in all the happiness in the world and lay waste to it all? 

(He wished she was there to tell him instead of having to put words in her mouth.)

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. He hadn’t asked for this life. He hadn’t asked to have his childhood ripped out from underneath him. He hadn’t asked to lose his mother, to be practically maimed by his father, to return and maim his father back. Why? Why, why, why was this happening to him? Must he be punished for his father’s sins? Or, was he born to suffer? Was his existence so horrible that he must feel nothing but pain? Was he destined to be tortured by the universe for all of eternity?

Once he had buried his face in his hands, he gave up on trying to muffle his voice. He cried loud and disgustingly. He cried until he felt delirious, until he could barely keep himself from slumping in the chair and becoming a heap on the ground. But, he didn’t do that. He didn’t need to resort to that sort melodrama when he was already so pathetic. Even though he was alone in this estate, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he succumbed to his lesser instincts to throw a fit on his father’s study floor.

Eventually, he didn’t have any more tears to cry, and even though he felt exhausted and used up, more constructive thoughts entered his mind.

His father’s death—he had to do it. He had to kill him. He had to. There was no other way. So, this was the last time he would cry about it. 

His mother’s death—that wasn’t his fault. There was nothing that could be done. And, although it was sad, dwelling on it was of no use either. So, this was the last time he would cry about it.

This was the end of his mourning. No more. He would not waste his life being weak. He had an obligation to attend to, and if there was one thing that Alucard would never do, it was shirking his duty and sacrificing his honor. He would restore this castle—his childhood home—even if it pained him.

But, before that, he decided he should get some rest. He would probably be more productive that way, and he could barely keep his eyes open as it was.

When he entered his old bedroom, he had almost forgotten that it, too, had seen its fair share of damage. And, of course, this was the place that—don’t think about that. His bed had been knocked off one of its feet due to—well, he didn’t really want to think about that either. 

The more pressing problem was that if he tried to lie down to sleep on his bed, it would certainly collapse under his weight. He approached it,  ~~ignored the half-burnt carpet and the wedding ring on the ground~~ , and put a hand on the mattress, pushing it down slightly just to make sure. The wood made a horrible creaking noise. Just as he had suspected.

He stepped back and crossed his arms, staring at it as if the bed would give him any ideas.

(Instead, an outline of a boy appeared as he was curled in his blankets, looking up at the woman tucking him in. He was either crying because he had a nightmare or he was begging for a bedtime story because sometimes there were sounds outside the window that scared him and a fantasy could make that all go away.)

Alucard wished for some sort of veil that could keep memories from creeping into his brain and imposing images onto the world around him. He’d been alone for maybe an hour or two, and he already felt too emotionally exhausted by all he was being forced to see, forced to deal with. 

He dug the heels of his hands into his forehead and took a deep breath. When he looked up, the outlines were gone, and all he saw was a destroyed bed frame. Wind from the broken window blew through him and sent a shiver up his spine. He thought for a moment that he should find a room that didn’t have its windows blown out, but realistically, they probably had all been broken when Sypha burned all that was left of him.

He laughed because it was all so ridiculous. Never had it crossed his mind that his goals would drag himself down with them. Never had he thought he would feel worse after his father was dead than when his father had tried and failed to kill him the first time.

But, it wasn’t worth thinking about. These were his circumstances, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The only thing he could think to do was drag his mattress onto the floor, which was definitely not a respectable arrangement, but anything would do at this point. He just needed to get some sleep and forget any of this ever happened.

(As if that was even possible.)

 


	2. Tăietură

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tăietură, n.  
> 1\. cut, incision  
> 2\. notch

It had been a long night. A long, tired night.

It was much too cold. He tossed and turned and tried his best to ignore his own shivering so he could finally sleep soundly.

It didn’t even really make sense to him why he was so cold. It wasn’t like the temperature or the wind was intolerable, and even if it was, being half-vampire had him favoring cooler climates anyway. So, the fact that he felt completely unable to modulate his own body temperature was worrying at best. Even though he knew this was impossible, Alucard began to wonder if this was symptomatic of the ice inside himself, as ridiculous as the idea was.

His only solution was to look in the wardrobe and pull out as many blankets as he could find so he could create a cocoon to envelop himself in.

Unfortunately, the cold wasn’t the only issue he was facing. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t get his mind to shut the hell up.

(The little voices in the back of his mind pestered him, told him he didn’t deserve to rest because that would mean he would feel at peace, which was beyond what a patricidal murderer like him should expect. He deserved to feel frozen solid. He deserved to be isolated. He didn’t deserve to feel at ease. That much he knew for sure.)

The only thing that spared him was his own exhaustion. At some point, not even his guilty conscience could keep him awake. The baser human half of himself took over, and before he could consciously realize it, he had fallen away from reality.

 

* * *

 

He looked up into the trees and the light snuck between every leaf. Should he feel the warmth of the sun? The only thing he felt was a light breeze and the sound of someone walking behind him.

When he turned around, there was no one there.

Alone here, too. Where could he go where he wasn’t alone?

He turned around again, and as if someone was listening and fulfilled his wish, there stood his mother. She looked so beautiful, so serene as the forest’s soft green glow bathed her.

Reaching out, he hoped to touch her, but the scene warped in front of his eyes, and he fell down. His stomach bottomed out from under him. He gasped when he realized that there was no ground, and he was free-falling.

Fortunately, wherever he fell was soft because the impact was hard and fast.

He sat up to find himself in the bed of his childhood bedroom.

He looked down at his hands, which looked too small to be his hands, but of course, his eyes were blurring with tears, so who was to be sure anyway?

Hadn’t he promised himself he wouldn’t cry any longer? He hated crying, but he did it so often now. It made him sick. Someone needed to come around and put him out of his misery.

These tears were not from mourning as much as they were from a pounding fear in his chest that gripped his heart and clenched his stomach and had him choking on his own sobs.

Alucard felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, Adrian. Whatever’s the matter?”

A familiar voice, soft and poetic, filled up his mind and leaked out of his ears. He didn’t have to look up to know who was speaking, but he did anyway, just to make sure he wasn’t mistaken.

Words fell out of him, but he couldn’t quite understand them. The only thing he could decipher was how panicked his tone sounded and how pained her expression looked.

“There’s nothing to be frightened of. It was just a dream.”

The tears somehow started coming faster, and he was overwhelmed by the intensity of his emotions that didn’t seem to be his emotions.

“Adrian,” she murmured, “Nothing will happen to me, I promise.”

She smiled as if it were the truth, or maybe she believed it was the truth. He had no way of knowing. But, when she pulled him into a hug, it felt true, or maybe he wanted to believe it was true.

He laid back down and tried his best to fall asleep, even with his heart pounding in his chest. And, maybe he would have if not for the stunted yelp that rang out overhead and the heavy sound of a body falling on the floor. 

He opened his eyes and was faced with his own wicked smile and a blade soaked with his mother’s blood.

 

* * *

 

Alucard woke up shouting. He shot straight up in bed, white-hot horror striking him. He panted, looking around to make sure he was in the appropriate version of reality. By the darkness outside the window, he could conclude that it probably hadn’t been more than an hour or so since he’d originally fallen asleep.

It had been a while since he’d had a nightmare like that. Was it being back in this bedroom that had caused it? Had he started to regress back to his childhood, back into a boy afraid of everything and nothing at all? Probably not, but he’d rather it be that than all the other possibilities.

He laid back down, curling to his side and pulling his blankets up around his ears. He listened to the sounds his body made in response to fear, tried to steady his breathing so his heartrate would decrease as well.

Once his body calmed down, he dozed off several more times, but he never slept too soundly. He never knew when his dreams would confirm his fears that he was to blame for every bad thing that had ever happened.

That was exhausting in itself. The one thing that would probably help him was rest, but he never managed to experience it. The sun had risen before he had gotten more than a few hours of sleep, which he perceived as a sign from the universe to give up on it altogether.

_I should get up_ , he told himself, but he made no attempts to do so. Instead, he continued to lay there, tangled up in an absurd amount of blankets. 

It was too cold to get up, especially with the wind blowing through the missing window. On several occasions, he had entertained the idea of dragging the mattress out into the hallway because at least it wasn’t exposed to the elements, but he was just so tired. He was just so tired.

He was too nervous to get up, as well. The image of himself from his dreams combined with the overwhelming amount of work before him had him sinking even deeper into the bed.

His eyes drifted up to the ceiling and looked at the constellations that were painted on it. It was much less impressive during the day, the sunlight ruining the illusion to a certain extent. 

(It was also the last thing he looked at before he plunged a stake into his father’s heart, but since it was too bright to be that specific scene, it didn’t scare him as much as he thought it might.)

What irony that he would end up back here, back in the very room he grew up in. Along with Sypha’s comment about the well, another tumbled around in his mind. Was he really just an angry teenager in an adult body? He didn’t feel angry, though. He just felt lost and—was miserable too dramatic? Hm. Maybe he was a teenager, drawn to angst and melodrama. Laying in this bed in an almost catatonic state made Sypha’s observation feel much too apt. He wished he could crawl out of himself and inhabit some other body that wasn’t so ridiculous.

Because that was impossible, he finally did manage to get himself out of bed. Although, he brought a blanket with him because it was still much too cold.

What was he to do? Start cleaning? Learn how to repair glass and metal and carve wood into the intricate structures that supported this place? In theory, that wouldn’t be too hard. He could go down to the Belmont Hold and see if there were any relevant texts, but frankly, the library unnerved him. It reminded him of the gaping ravine between him and Trevor and ultimately how alone he was. He didn’t need to be reminded how alone he was.

(Would Trevor kill him one day? Would it be for the best? Alucard wasn’t sure anymore.)

Instead of that, when he entered the main corridor, he sat on the steps that overlooked the room, wrapped in his blanket.

Oh, God. Everything was such a mess. Blood stained the ground and made everything smell of death.

It was strange to Alucard that he couldn’t pull himself out of the same circular thinking patterns, that every time he looked at a room that had been destroyed, he felt dread climb up from his stomach and into his throat. Never before had he felt so paralyzed by an _idea_. Dreams, maybe, had come close to it, and anxiety had crawled under his skin as a child, but this was a completely halting sensation, a frozen feeling.

He didn’t want to think about that particular metaphor anymore so he stood up, turned around, and headed for another room that might not be as overwhelming to clean up.

That had been his intention, but as he entered what used to be a dining room, he sat at the table that hadn’t been smashed in half. He’d eaten in this exact spot so many times. He’d pretended to be human in this exact spot so many times. When he looked at the other seats, he could imagine his parents sitting there, too. 

He clenched his fists on the table and looked down, but the wood finish was so glossy that he could see his disheveled reflection. His hair was messy from tossing and turning in bed, and his skin was even paler than usual. 

(Everything was such a mess.)

He wandered into his father’s—his mother’s—his lab. So much glass was shattered on the ground. All of the flasks and test tubes and burettes were broken and littered all over the place. He figured he could start small. Just clean up a little bit of the damage. 

He picked up a glass shard to throw away, but because he hadn’t been very delicate or paying much attention, the sharp edge sunk into his hand, and blood began to leak from him. Alucard didn’t so much as flinch. It was definitely painful, but it just didn’t really matter that much anymore, did it? What pain could be worse than what he carried with him constantly? What wound was deeper than the things he was forced to see and do, than the horrible experiences carved inside him? What did it matter when he could heal himself almost as quickly as the injury occurred?

There was something momentarily peaceful about watching bright red blood—( _You need that running through you for your body to work_ )—be wasted on the dirty ground. It felt like an apt metaphor—( _You need to drink that for your body to work_ )—for the wasted potential of all who had stepped into this horrible place.

Except, that wasn’t true of Trevor and Sypha. They were probably thriving because they brought the best out of each other. What would they think if they saw him now, holding a piece of glass and not caring that it stuck out of his hand awkwardly?

It was very clear to him now that his absence from their party was not only beneficial but mandatory. Whatever _thing_ that was wrong with him was far greater than even Sypha would have known about. There was just something wrong with him. Maybe he was irreparably broken, just like the travel mechanisms of the castle. There was nothing to be done but rot away and let time eat what was left. 

In that way, he somewhat understood his father’s mindset. If there was nothing to be done, the only thing he could do was nothing at all. Let it all naturally fall into place.

It occurred to Alucard that he’d been standing in the same spot watching himself leak on the floor for far too long. He pulled the glass out of himself and dropped it back on the ground, where it shattered into smaller pieces. His hand closed back up as if the previous few minutes hadn’t happened at all.

He wouldn’t have even been sure it had happened if it weren’t for the puddle of himself he was standing in front of.

 

* * *

 

In sorrow, there wasn’t much to do besides bask in melancholia. But, in pain, there was a certain relief, an escape from the inescapable, even if it was momentary and fleeting. It was actionable, and therefore, it felt more desirable than letting dread act on him.

Pain felt like a tiny spark of life inside him, a flare that came alive for just a split second before it faded away into the dull throb he associated with fear, and self-loathing, and grief. And, in that way, it was a behavior he had no reason to avoid engaging in. Self-preservation was the last thing on his mind.

Maybe he would have felt different if there was anyone around to witness it, but there wasn’t anyone. There wasn’t anyone at all. There was just himself, and he didn’t care.

There was twisted pleasure in seeing his reflection in the broken mirror of his bedroom and how it made a clean cut on his finger when he slid it down over the shattered surface. A bit of blood would appear, but then, the wound would be healed, and it probably hadn’t even happened at all.

Alucard was faintly aware that something wasn’t quite right, that his thoughts were jumbled and illogical, but he couldn’t figure out what was wrong. His head was clouded, and every time he set his mind to cleaning up a room, it only took a few minutes before he was disorientated and exhausted.

Although, after some amount of time, he became aware of a searing pain gnawing inside him.

While bringing harm to himself was a bearable kind of pain, this pain was far more visceral, far less easy to ignore. It clawed at him in a similar way that sadness often did, made him feel ill in a similar way that sadness often did.

It dawned on him that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d fed. Or eaten anything, for that matter.

While a human could not go long without food or water, a dhampir could abstain for longer periods of time since he could also get nourishment by other means. But, not having food or blood was not a very conducive state of being if his constant light-headedness and absentmindedness was anything to go by. 

_You need to feed_ , he told himself.

However, he continued to sit, rapping his fingers on the dining room table, hand and elbow propping his chin up.

He had lost track of the days (the calendars hadn’t been marked or changed since everyone had died, after all). Had it been a few days since Trevor and Sypha had left? A few weeks? A few months? Alucard simply had no concept of the passage of time at this point. When he thought back to previous events, the only ones he was sure actually happened were the ones where Trevor and Sypha had been there. Everything after that melted into a slurry of daydreams, nightmares, and instantly reversible harm.

What he did know was that when he was traveling with the two of them, he hadn’t been very good at keeping up with his feedings, even back then. It was difficult to run off on his own and catch animals without raising suspicion, so he would find small mammals after they’d gone to sleep. Considering the destruction the demons had perpetuated in certain areas, however, there wasn’t always anything to hunt, to begin with. Most of the time, he subsisted on food and ignored the hunger pangs that came from everywhere but his stomach.

But, these were different circumstances.

Alucard knew there had to be stores of blood—there always had been before—but something kept him from seeking them out. He felt very hungry, but even though the sensation was painful, it didn’t motivate him enough to act on it.

“I’m not sure what good it would do,” he said to no-one in particular. “I’ll feed to get rid of the hunger only for it to come back. It’s cyclical insanity.”

Somewhere along the way, he’d become twisted up. Taking care of his needs felt like insanity, and actively ripping at his own seams felt like relief. It didn’t make sense to anyone, not even himself, but there wasn’t any reason to care. There just wasn’t any reason to care.

Before he could stop himself, his vision grew blurry, and thick tears fell to the table. He didn’t want to cry, but it was much too painful to realize that the only things that made life worth caring about had disappeared and left him to his own devices—devices that were either broken or never existed in the first place.

“Why did they leave?”

( _They had to._ )

“But, they didn’t. They could have stayed.”

( _They could have, but there’s no opportunity here. Those two can only thrive on opportunity._ )

“Then, why am I here?”

( _You promised Trevor you would look after everything._ )

“No, I proposed I would let this place be my grave. He told me that I should look after it, instead.”

( _Well, isn’t that technically what you’re doing anyway?_ )

“I…”

( _If you weren’t actually interested in dying, you wouldn’t be acting as you are._ )

“I don’t want to die, but I—”

( _—don’t want to be alive like this._ )

Alucard tried his best to get ahold of himself, but something about the circumstances unwound him. At some point, he’d made his way to his room and crawled under the covers, but he didn’t remember doing so. He also didn’t remember taking one of his pillows and clutching it to his chest.

It almost felt like someone. Him? Her? Someone? Anyone?

“Am I not worthy enough to be in another’s company?” he asked the pillow, but the pillow stayed silent.

He would never say it, but the truth was he missed them so much he could be sick.

 

* * *

 

Childhood. Memories and love.

But, it was only a flash, a blip compared to what was to come. 

He remembered the taste of anxiety, a bubbling of unease under his skin as a small boy. Even when nothing was wrong, he felt nervous. He cried at night, and his parents would spend upwards of hours some nights calming him down.

( _They loved me, and now they’re dead.)_

That wasn’t exactly the point. The point was that Alucard had never been forced to build up the barriers in his mind. The moment things went wrong, he was sliced up so horribly that he had to be put to sleep for a year.

And, the moment he woke up, he was swept up in a whirlwind, a fantastic storm with a clear goal and clear partners and clear outcomes. It was either kill or be killed. He could deal with that because he had other things to distract him. There was Sypha’s conversation. There was Trevor’s less than humorous banter. What he couldn’t deal with, inevitably, was being left alone with himself.

Because what was there to do?—( _Wallow, wallow, wallow. Think about how fucked up everything is. Think about how fucked up everything’s always been and always will be._ )—No coping mechanisms, no reason to try, no reason, no reason, no reason.

( _My father tried to kill me_ —)

He’d never had too long to think about it before. When he was with himself, the feelings would rise up, but then, it’d be morning or Trevor would come barreling into the room, or—

( _There’s no one here to love me_ —)

He would have liked to believe that he wasn’t deserving of love, that he didn’t need love, but he so very badly needed to be loved that the fact that his life was now devoid of it became an all-consuming despair, almost as strong as—

( _I killed my father—_ )

Oh, God. What had he done? What had he—it was inevitable—but, he didn’t want to—he was already dead—but, he was still standing—he was going to kill so many people—but, he was the only family he had left—

( _They all left me. They all left me. They…all left…_ )

The obvious conclusion was that he deserved to be left alone. ( _But, why?_ ) The obvious conclusion was that he deserved to suffer. ( _But, why?_ ) The obvious conclusion was that he deserved to feel pain. ( _But, why? Please tell me why._ )

The obvious conclusion was that he didn’t deserve to be loved.

What does love mean? Is it a feeling? An experience? A human need? Is that why humanity is a calamity in itself? Does the need for love drive them to destruction, gluttony, and hate? Is hate really the opposite of love, or is love and hate inseparable from the other just as Alucard’s humanity was inseparable from his monstrosity?

( _Please. I need them. I know it’s selfish, and I know I will hurt them, but I need them._ )

 

* * *

 

Alucard stood in front of the portrait of himself and his family, the happy family that once was but was no more. His mother had been murdered. His father had been murdered. Their son was anything but happy.

He clenched his fists at his sides, his body shaking in a fury he didn’t know he had inside himself.

( _THEY LOVED ME AND NOW THEY’RE DEAD_ )

He grabbed the portrait and tore it from the wall before smashing it on the floor. The glass shattered. The canvas of the painting tore. The frame bent with the force of the blow.

Now his family’s likeness was destroyed, just like they had been in real life. Just how it ought to be.

Alucard didn’t know what else to do but go back to bed. At least the nightmares he experienced when he was asleep weren’t real, unlike the nightmare he lived in while he was awake.

 


	3. Fantomă

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fantomă: n.  
> 1\. ghost  
> 2\. phantom  
> 3\. shadow

Something wasn’t right.

The thought was somewhat ridiculous because it was extremely obvious that all sorts of things had gone wrong, but nevertheless, Alucard awoke to a new kind of disorientation.

He was very dizzy, even when just lying in bed. Every time he tried to think, the words in his mind spun for a moment before disappearing, just like water down a drain. But, probably the worst part was the pain—a ripping, guttural pain that radiated from somewhere inside him. His stomach might have been ripped open and flipped inside out. His skin might have been pulled too tight over his body. He wasn’t completely sure.

What he was sure of was that he was very, very hungry.

A groan escaped him before he could stop himself—but, God, it was painful. 

Obviously, starving himself hadn’t been the best course of action, but something in his mind had failed and short-circuited, and it didn’t really matter what was good or bad. There was just this and him.

He had tried multiple times to get out of bed and wander the castle until he found food or blood or anything, but he was so dizzy that he could barely sit upright let alone walk. It had to have been more than a few days since they left. It must have been a few weeks because he’d never felt like this before, just at his absolute weakest. After all, he didn’t really remember much after his father had charged at him with his claws bared. 

Sleep had turned into something more similar to a blackout state with it coming on suddenly and stiflingly, like a dark curtain pulled over his eyes. It might have been a protective mechanism since every time he was conscious, he was in so much pain. 

Human metabolisms adjust to prolonged starvation, but the cravings for blood were much more persistent. However, the combination of both was the worst of both worlds.

Maybe, somewhere along the way, he had started resenting both parts of himself, the human and the vampire. The human was weak and base, succumbing to needs of the flesh and perishing far too easily. But, being a vampire—being Dracula’s son—was an egregious crime.

There was no one to blame but himself, just like it had always been and just like it always would be.

The worst part was the fantasizing. 

Just like imagining a feast when starving, Alucard’s mind kept wandering to dark places, the ones that must have been instinctual because he had never actually craved human blood before, and especially never to the point where he took a twisted pleasure in imagining the hunt, the kill, the feed.

It wasn’t something he readily discussed with anyone, but he held a certain amount of shame in having to feed on blood at all, even though he only had ever eaten small creatures or game. He had specifically sworn that he wouldn’t harm humans as it would go against his mother’s philosophy to do so. It also quelled some of the anxiety that told him he was half a monster and half the very species he was craving to hunt.

None of it was very logical, but the images of—(faces he knew, faces he didn’t)—(screams and the feeling of teeth sinking into flesh)—(blood, warm and comforting, yet biting with the metallic tang of dirty coins)—haunted him constantly.

He wrestled with his mind, telling himself that it wasn’t okay to feel like this but not having the ability to stop it.

And, in this way, sleep was still a preferable existence to consciousness. At least in sleep, he didn’t have to face himself.

 

* * *

 

“Alucard.”

Everything was murky and blurred. He could barely focus his vision. All he managed was a sound of acknowledgment before he shut his eyes again.

“Hey, Alucard.”

He had already indicated he was alive, so he didn’t feel the need to muster the energy for any further interaction.

There were voices beside him. People were talking in hushed tones as if not to disturb him, which seemed ridiculous considering they’d just disturbed him not two seconds ago.

Then, there was a hand on his forehead.

“It doesn’t feel like he has a fever.” The voice was soft and caring, a thick accent coating each word.

The deeper voice grumbled, said something indecipherable. Or, maybe he’d started to fall asleep again.

He heard footsteps and then the sound of a door closing.

A hand brushed against his cheek before being placed tenderly on the top of his head. If he hadn't known any better, he would have thought that his mother had returned from the dead to give him the affection he so dearly desired.

The person beside him started humming. It was a sweet and soft tune, and the gentleness of it had him rousing. The hand on his head was so familiar and so comforting that he had no choice but to open his eyes.

Alucard was greeted with a kind smile and lithe fingers moving his hair from his forehead. At that moment, he realized that he felt sticky and hot even though he wasn’t ill.

“Ah…” Sypha tilted her head. “You’re awake.”

It sounded like she was stating the obvious, but maybe she feared that Alucard wasn’t aware of his current state.

He tried to speak, but his first attempt was nothing but gravel, an unpleasant sputtering from a throat that had not been used in many, many days. With Sypha’s presence, he’d almost forgotten that he’d been alone for so long, but the realization that he hadn’t said a word in what was probably weeks was quick to remind him.

“Shh…you don’t have to say anything.”

Sypha had always been caring, but there was something motherly about her now. She was softly petting his hair, which felt very nice as much as he hated to admit it. 

“But—I want to say something,” he said, letting a ghost of a smile cross his lips. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you, too.”

The air around them grew stale and awkward. It was as if she could read his sorrow without him having to explain any of it. In a way, Alucard felt thankful for this since he very much did not want to open his own floodgates, but at the same time, he very much did want to confide in another.

But, Sypha was the first one to speak up.

“Alucard…you don’t—you don’t look well.”

He laid there and stared at her, trying to formulate any of the words that could explain how he was feeling. Not only did he feel physically drained, but he had also been in a downward emotional spiral since he had been left alone.

“I don’t think I am well,” was all he could think to say. Even though it wasn’t the full story, it still was relieving to say it out loud.

“What have you been doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yes.”

It was the truth, even though Sypha didn’t seem to believe it. The days had blurred into one another, days and nights inseparable, the constant ache of loneliness and hunger the only indication that he was still half alive.

Alucard continued, “I have been finding it difficult to do anything at all. Even the most basic of tasks.”

Sypha’s eyebrows were knitted together, her lips pursed in worry.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?”

He shook his head. 

“I don’t remember the last time I even left this bed.”

Admitting to his constant state of lethargy felt somewhat embarrassing considering they’d only seen him in his prime physical condition before. Now, he felt like he’d withered away, body and mind.

“Are you ill?”

Maybe he was, but he wasn’t physically ill, at least. He shook his head.

“Is it a matter of mind?”

Alucard nodded.

“I see.” She tilted her head, giving the dhampir a doting sort of look. “Is it something you’d wish to talk about?”

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to let all the poison that had collected in his brain spill out of him, especially considering a lot of it was tangled in Trevor and Sypha’s departure, but he had a feeling that keeping it to himself would only cause it to keep festering.

“You might think less of me by the end of it.”

“I doubt that will be the case.”

With help from Sypha, Alucard sat up in bed and began to unravel the mess of thoughts that had been spinning around and around for some time, about the guilt of killing his father, about the sorrow of losing both parents—his family, about the stifling loneliness of being abandoned by…

“You felt abandoned?"

“Abandoned is the wrong word.”

His words pulled a sorrowful look from Sypha, her hands wringing in a nervous manner.

“I promise, Alucard, that wasn’t our intention.”

He averted his eyes, staring at the glass that had been scattered across the floor in a previous night’s rage.

“I’m aware.”

Alucard felt shameful for bringing it up. His wants and needs and fears felt much more manageable when they were tucked away inside his subconscious and not thrown out in the open. It hurt in a different way than the hunger, but it still ate at him, corroding his ability to stay composed.

The silence was palpable now, as if the two of them could drown if it didn’t wash away soon.

But, despite himself, his stomach made an awful noise, a distress call that Alucard had been ignoring, but Sypha addressed it immediately.

“When did you feed last? You look awfully pale.”

Another question he didn’t want to answer. When he was being self-destructive, there was no one around to witness it, but now that he had an audience, shame rose up from somewhere inside of him.

He did this to himself, but (he didn’t understand why, so how could he explain it?/it wasn’t like he was trying to worry others/he had legitimately nothing—not a defense, not a reason, not a clue).

“I don’t remember.”

Sypha gave him a last once-over before standing up. She had a determined air about her, as she often did when faced with an obstacle.

“You should get some rest. I’ll find something for you, alright?”

Alucard nodded even though there was a pulling in his chest that told him some part of him would miss the pain, as backward as that seemed.

“I’ll be back soon.”

And, with that, she turned and left, the door shutting forcefully behind her.

With Sypha gone, he immediately remembered the chill of the room, the pain in his gut, the exhaustion in his body, the fog in his mind. The call of a warm blanket and silent nothingness pulled him back down to the mattress, and Alucard fell asleep once more. 

 

* * *

 

He didn’t seem to dream anymore.

The darkness of sleep was only that—darkness—the reverie of not being awake. No longer did he see his mother’s face, or maybe Trevor’s, or maybe a face he’d only seen in death. The nothingness was pleasant at times and disorienting at others.

The human brain has ways of telling that time has passed while sleeping, but perhaps because the days were all exactly the same—(alone/alone/alone)—he’d lost the ability to know if he’d been asleep for five minutes or five hours. It didn’t matter in the end, so his body had stopped keeping track. It had to divert limited resources elsewhere, anyway.

But, the murmuring voices and footsteps and creaking of the castle around him had Alucard unsure of whether he was dreaming or not, and the sensations would bleed into each other, flowing in one ear and out the other, only to get tangled up along the way. He would periodically open his eyes to check if he was alone or if Sypha had returned, but each time, he was still the only person in the room.

Until he wasn’t.

After another unspecified amount of time, Alucard became aware of the feeling of someone beside him, much like the first time. Except when he opened his eyes, it was not the sight of a young woman that greeted him.

The person sitting next to him was obviously a man if his broad shoulders and fairly intense musk was any indication. It took a few moments before his brain lurched back into drive.

“Tre—” His voice came out thick and raspy before clearing his throat and trying again. “Trevor?”

“Back to the land of the living, huh?” Trevor said sarcastically—much too sarcastically for the circumstances. “Or, the half-living, I guess.”

Alucard pushed himself upright, which was easier to do this time than the last, but he was still fighting against the little black spots that threatened to pull him right back down. 

He wasn’t sure what to say. What was there to say when he was like this?

“I knew Sypha was here, but I didn’t know you were.”

“Well, we have been traveling together for a while, so…”

“So Sypha is…?”

“She’s trying to find some supplies for you. You don’t have to worry about it.” 

The uneasy smile he gave him suggested that he was slightly uncomfortable with the circumstances. Trevor had never been one to handle social niceties with any sort of grace, and Alucard couldn’t work up the energy to do so either.

“How are you doing?” Trevor asked, his eyebrows tensing just slightly.

Couldn’t he tell by the state of the castle—(still a disaster), the state of his room—(a broken portrait and a well-used mattress on the floor), the state of himself—(slow, labored speech and weak movements)?

He decided to dodge the question.

“Why…did you come back?”

“To visit, obviously.”

“To visit me?”

“Yes, Alucard. Is that really so hard to believe?” Trevor was beginning to sound annoyed, but he wasn’t sure if it was because he had to keep repeating himself or if he thought that he was being ridiculous. Alucard had just assumed they would discard him as soon as they were out of sight. It would be easy to forget that he had been left behind considering how little space he seemed to take up in their thoughts.

“I had assumed you’d be having too much fun together to consider making a return.”

“You really thought we wouldn’t…?” Trevor’s tone had become slightly quieter in trepidation. Maybe he simply could not believe that Alucard would fall back on such sentiments so easily.

“There isn’t much here. The castle is still in disarray. And, I’m—” He didn’t want to tell Trevor that he felt sad, so sad that he could vomit. Telling Sypha was far easier because she already knew how sad he was, but Trevor had steeled himself against his own sadness to the point where he was unable to see it in others.

“You’re a mess,” Trevor said, smiling to indicate that it was a friendly joke and not a real criticism.

“Yes, I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”

They shared a laugh, a tense one, but a laugh nonetheless.

Once the laughter died down, Trevor’s expression grew a bit grim. Alucard guessed that this meant it was time for the inevitable ‘serious discussion.’

“Sypha said that you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

He eyed the other man suspiciously, as if Trevor was cataloging the various things that were off about him. Alucard suddenly felt very small under his gaze. Maybe he had become that child again, the one that cried over the spooky sounds outside the windows.

“What are you looking at?”

“You.”

Alucard scoffed. “Clearly.”

“You’re pale.”

“I’m half vampire.”

“No, more pale than normal. And, you’re thin.”

“Yes, well, I…”

Just like with Sypha, the words never came because there weren’t any, to begin with.

“Haven’t been munching on any trespassers then, eh?”

His eyes narrowed, a silent ‘fuck you’ radiating from his expression.

“If you came back just to get your jollies from insulting me, I’d rather you leave.”

“It wasn’t an insult, Alucard. It’s a fact that you need blood. Is this news to you or something?”

Alucard clenched his eyes shut, the words and feelings and hunger whirling around the drain of his mind. He felt angry, embarrassed, ashamed, yet somehow slightly amused that Trevor could find a way to needle a sensitive topic and still remain light-hearted about it.

God, he had missed him. It took everything he had not to either punch him in the face or launch himself into his arms. But, he could barely admit that to himself let alone Trevor.

When he composed himself, he opened his eyes, and words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop him.

“I’m very, very hungry. I have no idea when the last time I ate was, and I think I might have started to go mad.”

Trevor frowned.

“Sypha mentioned that, too.”

“I don’t know why I’ve let it get to this point, but here we are.” Alucard had drawn his legs up to his chest, letting his chin rest on the arms that were crossed on top of his knees. He absently wondered if he looked as small as he felt.

For a moment, no one said anything. Trevor was processing something very intently, his eyebrows knit together and his eyes glancing to the side, but Alucard wasn’t sure exactly what he could possibly be thinking about.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind helping you out.”

Alucard’s foggy brain couldn’t process exactly what he was implying.

“Hm?”

“If you need blood, I could give you some of mine.”

Now, that, he could understand, and the sentiment sent a shock through him—a jolt of excitement and a jolt of horror.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why? You obviously need some, and I happen to be a bag of flesh with some to spare.”

It was clearly a joke on some level, but Alucard was not in the mood to enjoy the slight smirk on his lips and the way his words had a distinctive bite of sarcasm laced through them. Even though Alucard was trying to act like he was angry and appalled at the suggestion, the more accurate emotion he was feeling was a form of visceral terror.

The base part of his mind was practically begging for him to accept Trevor’s offer because—( _Oh God, yes, I’ve always wanted to taste him, he’s always smelled so good, and I’m so, so hungry, please_ )—but the more rational part was screaming because—( _In this state, I could really harm him, I could kill him, I don’t want to hurt him, drinking from a human is vile and degrading, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something went wrong_ ).

Amidst the chaos, he couldn’t only get one thought out.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can’t imagine it would hurt worse than any of the other injuries I’ve sustained in my life.”

Alucard put a hand to his forehead, trying to align his thoughts into anything coherent, but they spun out in different directions, banging against the inside of his skull until they disintegrated into nothing at all.

The dhampir part of himself was screaming louder than the human part, and it paralyzed him because he knew he shouldn’t want to, but he so desperately wanted to that it made his entire body ache with a strange guttural need, a tiny spark inside of him that could produce a wildfire if he wasn’t careful. It was then that he was fully aware of how much the vampire inside of him filled Alucard with dread.

(Maybe he had always felt scared because his very existence was a battle against the opposing forces of nature.)

“Hey. Are you still with me?”

Trevor’s large hand on his back shocked him out of his stupor. He lifted his head in surprise, only to see the rather stern look he was being given.

“Yes.” He sighed before continuing. “However, I fear that I’m too impaired to make a rational decision either way.”

“That decides it then. If you can’t make the decision, then I will. And, I think you should do it because you’re clearly not doing well.” Trevor paused and then his voice grew softer. “Considering what you’ve gone through, it’s probably the least I can do.”

“But, you don’t—”

“Will you shut up and take my generosity already? That’s one thing I don’t have much to spare.”

Alucard sighed again, this one far more dreary. But, he also couldn’t deny that a part of himself was flickering back to life. His heart thumped slightly harder in his chest in anticipation, like a dog drooling over the promise of dinner.

“If you’re sure,” Alucard breathed.

“I am,” Trevor insisted.

The air between them became sticky, and they both had to take an extra breath because there just wasn’t enough oxygen in the room.

He’d imagined it so vividly before, the way his muscles stretched as he craned his neck to the side, the way he could see his veins just under the skin. It took every ounce of his self-control to not just ravage him, to not immediately clamp down and suck him dry. He had to stay calm. He had to make sure not to hurt Trevor. He had to make sure not to hurt Trevor. 

He had to…(take care of himself/learn to deal with his fear/stop obsessing over death/open himself to the idea of love).

 

* * *

 

An angry teenager in an adult body.

It rang true now. While Alucard believed himself to be an adult, his rapidly maturing body had surpassed his rather average human mind, and it left him in a purgatory of sorts. 

In a sense, he’d accidentally been forced to deal with traumatic events that were far outside his mental capacity—an immature mind trying to grapple with things no one should have to grapple with. That wasn’t to say he was inherently weak or unintelligent or anything of that nature, but he’d always been a nervous child who had been protected by his loving parents. He was rarely ever criticized or left to his own devices. So, when the things that happened later were exceptionally horrific to him, it left his mind in shambles.

(He is informed of her passing—of her murder—and everything inside him shatters. He’s in little bits and pieces and blood rushes in his ears—Oh God, no, not her, please, anyone but her—Take him instead—Oh God— _Not her—_ )

(His father is just a flash and then there’s searing pain and blood. He can barely comprehend what has happened because his mind is trying its best to flee. The pain and blood—the pain and blood is too great and the only way for his body to cope is to—)

(He is slammed against the concrete three times—one, _two_ , **_three_** —and he blacks out for a second because the blows to his head rattle around in his brain and bounce against his skull, and he thinks he may be dead for a second but then he is thrown through a wall and he collides with something, and his vision comes back just in time to see the glow of his father’s eyes—)

( _Lisa, I’m killing our boy._ )

Alucard wished with all of his heart that he could forget these moments, but instead, they were seared so deeply in his mind that it had broken him down into almost nothing. Unfortunately, he was still that scared little boy.

He was scared, and alone, and scared of being alone.

The only thing he needed was nurture and affection and acceptance, and the universe had conspired to give him the exact opposite of that.

 

* * *

 

In both hands were those of a friend, one small and dainty and the other large and calloused. Their presence made him feel slightly more stable in that his vision did not warp as he stood upright and his knees did not buckle as he walked forward. 

He expected them to make him feel warm both with their touch and with their presence, but Alucard still felt very cold, inside and out. He shivered, but Sypha squeezed his hand and Trevor put an arm around his shoulder, and their closeness made a tiny fire flare up in his chest, bringing an unfamiliar flush to his cheeks.

When he became dizzy, they all sat down and conversed casually. Alucard admitted how badly he missed them, and they reciprocated the sentiment. Finally, he was feeling the ice inside him was beginning to melt, like the sun had come out and the well was finally being bathed in sunlight. He thanked whatever being was out there that he had been blessed with such caring and selfless friends. He gave them both hugs and asked if he could come with them on their adventuring next time. They agreed.

(Alucard found it strange that even with both of their help, it was far too difficult to get himself off the floor.)

They made it down to the reserves, to the place where his father had stored blood in case of an emergency or the genocide of the human race, and like a starving animal, he poured as much as he could into the utilitarian receptacle provided and gulped it all down. He did this several more times, not caring what Sypha or Trevor would think of him after seeing his unbecoming behavior.

It was only after what seemed to be an eternity that the gaping hunger inside him felt like it had been filled, and almost instantly, his mental clarity improved, the fog lifting from his mind. There was also no ripping pain in his gut and tightness over his skin. He felt so much better. 

Unfortunately, it was only after he was satiated that he realized how out of touch with reality he had actually been.

Alucard turned around to apologize for all he had done and put them through, but he was shocked to see that there was no one there. They were not where they had been standing just moments before.

He looked on either side of him, called out to them, but it was very clear that he was alone.

Panic seized him as it dawned on him that there was only one explanation, only one way for any of this to make sense. Nevertheless, he wandered through the castle and repeated their names ad nauseam, hoping that someone—anyone—would hear him. But, the more time that passed and the more rooms he explored, the fact of the matter became more clear to him.

(He had made up the whole thing.)

(That was why they seemed to disappear and reappear like ghosts—because they might as well have been.)

How many times had he vowed not to cry? It didn’t matter as there was no one around to see him. A part of him wished for the hunger to be back so at least he had something to keep him company, even if it technically was not a real, physical object nor a person.

He melted to the ground and sobbed. He cried until he felt like he might pass out. He cried until his heart broke in half and shattered on the carpet. He cried until he could convince himself that he didn’t love the both of them with every part of his being—the human and the monster.

Alucard took this as a final sign from the universe that, yes, he did not deserve to be in the company of others. His solitary fate was one he could not run from. 

The thawing ice refroze thicker than before. This time, Alucard decided that the ice was where he belonged.

 


	4. Realitate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> realitate, n.  
> 1\. reality, fact  
> 2\. substance  
> 3\. tangibility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when I said this was going to be 4 chapters? 
> 
> >*so that was a fucking lie.jpg*
> 
> this chapter turned out to be longer than I planned, and I feel like alucard deserves more comfort? plus i hate jumping into really shippy stuff without sufficient buildup, so I guess we're all just going to have to suffer, sorry lmao
> 
> (also i made some [castlevania playlists](https://8tracks.com/autumnmycat/collections/we-ll-win-the-war-we-started) so here's the [alucard one](https://8tracks.com/autumnmycat/the-monster) oops)

Alucard had taken to cleaning himself up a bit.

His mother’s lotions and perfumes and oils still sat in a neglected part of the castle, her objects completely untouched. Running a comb through his hair felt a little more comforting when he could imagine that it was her who was performing the task.

(He could almost see her. _Almost._ It seemed that even without starvation, he was imprinting visions onto the world around him. He should have probably been more worried about that, but he wasn’t entirely.)

He also enjoyed the slight pulling sensation at his scalp and how his golden hair would bounce around his chin and shoulders. It did feel slightly rewarding to treat his body nicely, but not enough to consistently do so. It didn’t numb the pain in his chest, only dulled it very slightly, and that was simply not enough.

The comb was placed on the counter in front of him, and he stared at his reflection. Even though it was his own image that he was staring at, there was something between his eyes and the mirror that had been uncoupled. He knew he was looking at himself, but he felt divorced from himself as well. If someone had told him it was a different person, Alucard would have believed them.

It wasn’t that he looked any different—or not that he could tell, at least—but everything just felt wrong.

His fingers grazed the smooth surface, trying to will his mind to snap back into place, but it didn’t. His reflection never managed to be quite right.

It had been a while since he’d changed his clothes, so he did that too. Admittedly, there was something nice about slipping into clean clothes and finding the wave of comfort that the smell of “home” filled him with.

This wasn’t his home anymore, but he had to try to get used to the idea that it was.

So, for the first time in days/weeks/months, he set out to get some work done. Pick up a little. It didn’t feel as arduous as it did when he tried to fight the pain. He had to simply allow it to consume him. It didn’t feel very good, but it was better than the alternative.

Yes, he told himself. This was better. Having hope was foolish to begin with. A solitary life was the only life he could possibly live.

(A solitary life, except for the ghosts.)

No ghosts. They weren't ghosts. He needed to call them what they were—hallucinations.

But, that was fine, too. At least, if his brain was conjuring up images that weren’t real, he could simultaneously have company while not having to bother anyone real with his faulty psyche. A perfect set up really.

(He hadn’t seen the visions of Trevor and Sypha since the last time, however. Maybe the universe knew that he didn’t deserve such a privilege.)

Even though his attitude had changed slightly, the confusion and exhaustion never really went away. He was active now, at least as active as someone could be while disposing of debris, but the tiredness still sat on him, and he often would have to take breaks before moving on to the next ruined room.

And, a bit more worryingly, he’d started to throw up, which wasn’t very pleasant because he wasn’t consuming anything but blood. And, even worse than that, he’d started to black out for unspecified periods of time, only to wake up in some room he didn’t remember being in.

(Something was seriously wrong with him, but in a totally reverse pattern as before, he desperately wanted to blame it on the issues of the mind because at least that had an explanation. There was no explanation as to why he had found himself slumped in a chair at the dining room table, a table he often sat at because it was about the only thing that still felt familiar to him in this place. He could see the outlines of his long gone family when he sat there, so it felt good even when his brain was threatening to push itself through his skull.)

He ignored his throbbing headache more often than not because it didn’t make sense to dwell on the negatives with his New Found Attitude. 

After all, Alucard had learned how to deny himself over the years.

When he was a boy, he would get cravings, awful cravings for blood, but that was so disgusting—just so fucking disgusting—that he just pushed it down. Pushed it down. It didn’t exist if he didn’t feel it.

So, of course, Alucard’s pain didn’t exist if he didn’t feel it.

He laid on his mother’s guest room bed and pushed his face into the pillows. They smelled so much like her, even after so long, and the fabric felt soft against his skin. It was soothing enough that he could forget his despair. Yes, this would be the perfect place to—

To…

To do what? Copulate? Die? Rot?

He shrunk into himself, grabbing his forehead as if he could pull the thoughts out of his head. But, the thought had disappeared and devolved into a crushing headache. He sucked in a breath and let it back out harshly in a way that almost mimicked a cat’s hiss.

(Something was wrong, something was wrong, something was wrong.)

The thought had been circling around in his mind since the first few days/weeks/months, but it had gone from tugging at the edge of his mind to being a constant shock back to reality. He’d been getting _worse_ , if that was even possible. It wasn’t like he was confined to his bed with the dizziness of severe hunger, but there were far more symptoms—nausea, lapses in memory, disorientation, hallucinations…

Ah, yes, that was what he had been thinking about before. It would be a perfect place to imagine Sypha or Trevor, imagine how they might wrap around him and how he’d melt into nothing but the warm sensation. He’d be nothing but _them_ , and that idea felt so wonderful that he’d accidentally let out a sigh at the idea. However, once he realized he had done so, his expression devolved into a hard frown.

Even though he was alone and had been for so long, he still felt a pang of embarrassment at the thought. It made him feel like a hopeless case, like a needy human who could focus on nothing but love—

Oh, well, that really hadn’t been what he was thinking about. Love? What could love lead to other than death and destruction? This was not love. This was weakness. He longed for whatever had steeled himself to loneliness in the past, so he could finally live in peace.

(As if he had ever been left alone before this.)

Alone. Alone. What he deserved. What was required. 

Alucard shut his eyes as his head began to spin. Every waking moment was a reminder of what he deserved. This, and that, and absolutely not them.

 

* * *

 

The only dream he remembered during these times was a replay of the night he’d murdered his father. Alucard cried into his mother’s pillow even though he had promised himself long ago that he’d never cry about him ever again.

 

* * *

 

Sunlight intruded into the dining room through the shattered windows, and all Alucard could do was cover his eyes and lament over how horrible the sun was. He’d been trying to read a journal written by his mother about treating ailments of the mind, but once the beams had aligned perfectly to burn into his retinas, he’d taken to the very refined position of being buried in his arms, forehead down on the hardwood table.

He could almost hear his mother admonish him for putting his elbows (and face) on the table during dinner time, but that didn’t stop him.

That was until he realized that he really could hear someone talking. More specifically, someone was calling his name—a more vivid hallucination maybe?

“Alucard?”

He sat up, his eyebrows pulling together as he tried to identify the voice. So familiar, but so far away. The longer he thought about it, the more his mind drifted, the more his head ached. A hand raked through his hair as his head lolled to the side.

“Hey. What’s with the cold shoulder?”

A smaller, more delicate voice responded with a chiding sort of intonation. Alucard stared at the glossy finish of the table, at his own reflection. He didn’t look as terrible as he used to, but he still looked disheveled and absent—wholly unlike Alucard. It was better that this was a hallucination because he didn’t want anyone to see him like this.

“Alucard, are you alright?”

It clicked then. He knew who was talking to him.

Crushing anxiety beared down on him—(Oh no, Oh God, what had he done to deserve this?)—and the only reaction he could manage was to sit there and silently panic—(Why had they appeared now of all times? He had been actually taking care of himself and now he was having a repeat episode of...whatever had happened to him. Starvation-induced psychosis? But, he wasn't starving now. He was fine. So why? _)_

Yes, fine. Alucard was _fine._

He felt it best to ignore them, to go back to the paragraph he'd been reading. 

“Alucard."

God, it even started the same way. They would call his name and he wouldn't respond because he didn't have the wherewithal to deal with it. 

"Er, hey, I know you’re mopey and everything, but is ignoring us really necessary?"

A classic Trevor jab. 

(He sounded so real that he wanted to put his hands over his ears and burst into tears.)

That was when he felt hands on his shoulders and his whole body all but jumped out of his chair. He flipped around in reflex, but unfortunately, that meant he directly made eye contact with a surprised Sypha—or the Sypha of his imagination, or something. 

"Don't touch me," he warned, his voice sounding more threatening than he originally intended. He knew that talking to them would only make the delusion worse (but she felt so real that it made his stomach do flips).

“I’m sorry?" That kind, motherly tone had already edged into her voice. "Are we wrong to intrude?"

Alucard ignored her, turning back around. 

"I think he's just being dramatic," Trevor offered unhelpfully. 

If Alucard had been turned around in his chair, he would have seen Sypha shoot a glare at Trevor, but he kept his eyes on the journal, flipping pages in a weak attempt to pretend he was reading. 

“Ah, well,” Sypha began cautiously, “I’m not sure what you’ve been up to lately, but we’ve run into some unfortunate news.”

He had to admit that this piqued his interest. An eyebrow raised, but he made no other attempt to respond.

She continued, “Apparently, there is unrest in the vampire community. Two opposing sides are developing, one that follows a vampire named Carmilla and one that follows a human named Isaac.”

Alucard vaguely recognized the name ‘Carmilla’ but ‘Isaac’ meant nothing to him.

Trevor cut into Sypha’s explanation, “It sounds like it’d be none of our business, but they both have forgemasters on their side, and considering they both used to be part of Dracula’s army, it’s making everyone nervous, including us.”

“Who knows what might happen if some of these minute squabbles break out into a full-out civil war. It may be a repeat scenario of Dracula’s war—”

“As in, the human race may be the ultimate victims here.”

The dhampir listened intently, but he still flipped pages to try to maintain an air of disinterest.

“Ah. So the reason you’ve returned is that I’ve become useful again.”

The two of them recoiled.

“N-No, that’s not it. We also missed you, and…” Sypha struggled to get words out as she fumbled with her own hands.

“And?”

“Oh, come on,” Trevor grunted, rolling his eyes. “So what if the reason we came back is because we need your help? It doesn’t make you not our friend. I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal about this."

“Because the last time you came, you cared about _me_. Not my abilities.”

Trevor frowned. “The last time?” He looked at Sypha who shrugged and shook her head. “Are you talking about before we left? Because we haven’t—”

If these were sounds and images projected onto the world from his mind, shouldn’t this Sypha and Trevor remember how they helped him the last time? Or, was this an attempt to make the scenario seem more realistic? Nothing about this made sense to him. It made his headache even worse.

“I’ve had enough of the tricks this wretched place plays on me.”

He stood up and moved past them without so much as further acknowledgment. Trevor and Sypha stood rooted to the ground, frozen by Alucard’s nonsensical responses and subsequent dismissal. The two of them looked at each other before following after him, their pace much more hurried than Alucard’s.

“What’s gotten into you?” Sypha asked when they caught up with him. Exasperation was evident in her tone.

Alucard said nothing.

“Were you not listening?” Trevor’s voice was loud and unwavering, but the creases in his forehead betrayed his worry. “We need to figure out a way to stop Carmilla and Isaac before they—I don’t know—kill half the planet.”

Alucard said nothing.

“If you’re angry because we’ve been gone, that’s fine. We understand, and we’re sorry. We’ve been a bit selfish lately,” she said before Trevor butt in again.

“It doesn’t help to throw a temper tantrum, though.”

This statement poked all the wrong places inside of Alucard’s chest. He stopped walking and flipped around, glaring at two surprised faces.

“Enough. I will not entertain this theatre any longer, regardless of how convincing it may be.”

Trevor looked like he was about to retaliate, but Sypha put an arm out before he managed to do so.

“Alucard. Nothing you’ve said to us has made any sense. Can you please help us understand what you mean?”

He turned around once again, his shoulders slumping just slightly. Under his breath, he muttered, “Why bother?” It was quiet, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t heard what he’d said.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Trevor snapped. “Did anything we did together matter to you? And, even if it didn’t, we’re asking for your help. Being hostile doesn’t do anyone any favors.”

“I thought maybe you would see me as more than just a tool to prevent genocide.”

“We do,” Sypha urged. “Why do you think we don’t?”

Before he could stop himself, Alucard found his head in his hands, an anguished noise slipping past his lips. It was an embarrassingly weak noise, but considering he was convinced this conversation wasn’t truly happening, he didn’t really care. That was also why his words sounded so pained as he plead to the hallway/the castle/the Gods/anyone who was listening.

“Please stop. I can’t bear this any longer.” He breathed in, his exhale uneven on the way out. “Is it really necessary to torture me so? Please leave me alone.”

Trevor and Sypha shared another puzzled and concerned look.

“You don’t want to see us?” Sypha murmured.

“Not like this.” Alucard shook his head, which was still resting in his palms. “Not as warped memories. It just reminds me of how terrible things have been.”

This admission only led to a stifling silence, the discomfort of honesty making the air too thick to breathe.

When Sypha placed a hand carefully on his shoulder, Alucard jumped. Terror struck him in the chest. He hadn’t even heard her footsteps coming towards him.

“Things have been terrible for you?” Her tone was so soft and caring that she reminded him of his mother and how she used to calm him down when nightmares crept into his bedroom. It made him feel even more twisted up inside.

“Everything’s gone wrong.” His words were downright miserable. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Before he could figure out what was going on, Sypha had thrown her arms around his waist in a tight hug. She seemed to be searching for the proper words, but something told him that there were no words to make any of this alright.

“Could you please tell me what’s wrong? I want to help.”  


The worst part was how _real_ she felt. How her head leaned against his back. How her hands were clenched fists while they rested on his middle. How he could hear her breathing as her chest rose and fell.

Alucard ignored her.

"Why do you feel so real?"

He said this into his hands, and even though he could barely hear himself, Sypha's arms tightened around him. 

Her voice sounded meek when she asked, “What?"

“Why do you feel so real?” He said louder, his hands finally falling away from his face. “You can’t really be here. You weren’t here the last time.”

Now, it was Trevor who came marching over, his expression cross to hide any other feeling that may have been creeping its way into him. 

“Look, what is this ‘Last Time’ you keep talking about? From our perspective, there was no ‘Last Time.’”

Alucard didn’t respond. He wondered if he looked as defeated as he felt.

Sypha let go of him but trailed her fingers down to his hand, which she took into hers. Leaning down and around him to try to catch his line of sight, she asked, “Do you think we’ve been back before?”

Hesitantly, he nodded.

“Have you been…seeing things?”

He hadn’t realized he had tensed until he saw Trevor tense as well. Sypha had a way of acting calm even when she wasn’t, but Trevor always wore his emotions along with his tunic.

“I…”

His throat felt tight. He couldn’t get the words out. 

Instead, he sped away in a flash of light to get in front of his bedroom door, so he could avoid all the things that were happening. He practically jumped into bed, curling to the side and covering himself completely in his cocoon of blankets. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for the sound of footsteps to arrive at his door. Except, instead of coming inside immediately, the footsteps hung in the doorway. Muted gasps joined him instead.

“Shit…”

If Alucard hadn’t been hiding like a small, frightened child, he would have seen the horror in both of their eyes. The eyes that saw a shattered and warped portrait on the ground. The eyes that saw dried blood on a fractured mirror and dried blood on the ground. Eyes that saw a broken bed frame and a broken man under a humorously large amount of blankets.

But, then, there were people by the side of his bed and their presence felt so real, unlike the nebulous company that his hallucinations would bring. 

(Alucard was beginning to wonder if they were actually real instead of just feeling real.)

Someone pulled back the covers just slightly, just enough for Alucard to see how troubled Sypha and Trevor looked. They were visibly upset about the state of affairs, and it made him feel awful.

“Alucard,” Sypha said in a hushed tone, “what happened?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He adverted his gaze so he didn’t have to see their expressions any longer.

“ _No_ , it looks like a tornado ripped through this room—”

“And, there’s blood—”

Sypha reached out and grabbed his wrist which had been resting next to his cheek on the mattress.

“Are these cuts on your hand?”

_Shit_. He had been so wrapped up in his own head, he’d been forgetting to heal himself after indulging in reversible pain. It probably looked bad that his fingers and palm had little tiny nicks carved into them. He snatched it back from her grip.

“Was it an accident? Or, did you—”

“Shut up, shut up. So what if I have?” He healed his hand right then and sat up, showing it to them in exasperation. “It doesn’t matter. I can heal myself.”

“It _does_ matter,” Sypha insisted. “If you’re hurting yourself—”

“Why are you acting like you care?”

“ _Bullshit,_ ” Trevor balked. “You _know_ we care. Why are you being so fucking stubborn?”

Why? Alucard didn’t know why. Like it had been for the past days/weeks/months, his head wasn’t fastened to his neck all the way. Thoughts were jumbled, perceptions were altered—everything was a mess. He felt, on some level, as if he couldn’t control himself, that words were spilling from some place outside of his mind. The idea made him nauseous, made him rub at his eyes like he could remove the unpleasant sensation by doing so.

(Why was he such a fucking disaster?)

“Alucard, look at me.”

Sypha’s demand woke him out of his thoughts. He didn’t consciously obey her, but her tone was commanding enough that it happened automatically. His eyes met hers, but she didn’t look upset, just curious. She stared at him for several more seconds, to the point where both Trevor and Alucard were visibly uncomfortable.

“Did you know that one of your pupils is more dilated than the other?”

“Hm?”

She stood and took the broken, bloodied mirror from the wall before coming back over and crouching so she could hold it in front of where he sat.

Alucard looked at the detail of his eyes, trying to make sense of his shattered appearance. He had always been distracted by the cracks in the glass, the blood on his hands, the sadness in his expression, but he had neglected to actually _look_ at himself.

Sypha was right. His pupils were different sizes.

“I’m not sure what to do with this information.”

She set the mirror down beside her, leaning forward and putting her hand only a few inches away from his nose.

“Keep your eyes on me. Don’t look away.”

With a snap of her fingers, a small flame flared up from nothing. It burned itself into his retinas, and even with Sypha’s instructions, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Instead, he hissed and flinched away, absolutely certain that the flame had stabbed the inside of his skull.

“I thought so.” 

When the heat of the flame disappeared, Alucard slowly opened his eyes, embarrassed because of his overreaction and his inability to follow directions.

“What was that for?” 

“I was testing for light sensitivity,” she explained. “Have you ever had a concussion?” 

“Vampires can’t get concussions.”

“Is that so? Well, you’re not full vampire. Do you know if _you_ can get concussions?”

Alucard shook his head, “I’m not sure.”

Sypha stood and said, “You stay here. I’m going to look for something.” 

(The sensation of deja-vu ran over him as he swore this same conversation had occurred The Last Time.) 

Trevor began to rise as he said, “I’ll come with you—“

“No. Stay with Alucard. I don’t want him left alone.” 

“Oh, so now you’re not alright with leaving me alone?”

The jab made Sypha finch just a little, but she tried her best not to show guilt on her face. Maybe he’d been a little too harsh. It sounded like a better idea in his head than it did saying it out loud. 

“I’ll be back in a bit.” 

She didn't close the door, and so her footsteps echoed down the hallway and mixed into the awkwardness of the bedroom. Trevor shifted where he sat. They both avoided eye contact.

It took a minute or two but Trevor finally spoke up. 

“You’re a piece of work today. More than normal.”

What was he to say to that? _Oh, sorry, I thought you had abandoned me and the only way you would possibly come back was for it to be a hallucination._ That would go over well. 

“…I’m not feeling like myself.” 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

Alucard felt ridiculous when he could do nothing but offer a sheepish look, one rife with guilt and shame and confusion.

The words came out so quietly, even Alucard wasn’t sure if he heard them. 

“…Is this really happening?” 

Trevor's normally self-assured expression faltered.

“What? I—don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before he could stop himself, his hand shot out and grabbed at Trevor’s arm, squeezing it just enough so Alucard could be sure it felt solid. 

“Hey,” he half-heartedly snapped. “What do you think you’re—”

Alucard instantly let go, as if he’d accidentally touched a burning flame. An apology hung on his lips, but everything was so embarrassing that the words died there before he could get them out. The one thing that was most convincingly real was none of the conversations he engaged in were going his way, unlike how perfectly they had played out when he was living inside his mind.

(Alucard could feel the ice he was incased in growing more dense. Everything felt so cold, even with a pool of blankets draped around his hips.)

“You’re shivering.”

He could have passed on the commentary, thank you very much. He responded by laying back down and pulling the blankets up to his chin, curling in the ball that had become so familiar and comforting to him.

“You don’t shiver.”

“Shut up. It’s cold.”

Trevor raised an eyebrow. 

“It feels like spring.”

“I’ve realized that Sypha was right. I must be an icy well. I’ve swallowed all the warmth and turned it to cold.” 

Besides the fact that repeating the metaphor in such a way made Alucard sound a bit mad, the words obviously hit Trevor a little harder than he’d been expecting.

“You heard that?” he asked cautiously through a tight jaw. “You have good hearing, don’t you?”

“Yes, well, I am half vampire, and—“ Alucard was finding it difficult to speak in a collected manner when his teeth were chattering, “—you two do talk awfully loud, Treffy.”

This time, Trevor visibly cringed, probably not only because of the awful nickname but also because that meant that all their private flirting wasn’t so private after all. It was his turn to rub at his eyes, an embarrassed flush just slightly tinging his cheeks.

“Shit.” He removed his hand, but he still looked anywhere but Alucard. “First off, never call me that again. And, second, I don’t think Sypha meant any ill will.”

“No, of course not,” he said, gripping his blankets tighter. “I completely understand. I’m horrible to be around. I am well aware that my isolation is necessary.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Trevor said, trying to mute the horrified look in his eyes. “That is not at all what she was trying to say, I’m sure of it.”

“So, I’m being dramatic. I’m not sure what else you expected from me. But, I do know there’s something wrong. If my sadness is truly a cold spot in a room, then I probably deserve to freeze here alone. No one has to be burdened by it but myself.”

This was the first time that Trevor looked visibly shaken to the point where he couldn’t hide it any longer.

“You don’t really believe that.”

Alucard stayed silent. 

“We didn’t leave because we wanted to avoid you.” 

He surely didn’t believe that.

“You really think we don’t care about you?”

“I don’t know what to think.” 

It was then that Sypha came barreling back into the room, half a dozen books and journals in her arms. She either could not feel the tension in the room, or she was courteous enough not to mention it.

“Alright. I’ve gathered a few things.” She sat down, dropping the stack next to the bed with a loud _plop_. The first book was labeled ‘ _Observations of a Dhampir_.’ It was his mother’s journal about him. Alucard had known of its existence since he had asked about it as a child, but he never wanted to actually read its contents because he figured it would be too intimate, especially now that she was dead.

However, Sypha could not read his thoughts, so she cracked it open. After flipping through some pages, she said, “Ah, here we are.”

She cleared her throat and began to read aloud. 

“‘ _Adrian does contract human illnesses. He has had the flu in the past. I have also used some basic inoculation techniques that Vlad had discovered a while back, and that seems to have warded off some of the nastier bugs.’_ —Hm, interesting, but not necessarily helpful.” 

More pages flipped. Eventually, she set it down. Alucard was relieved that she didn’t read anything too embarrassing.

They didn’t have much luck with the other books. After all, dhampirs weren’t exactly common, and Alucard seemed to be right in that vampires couldn’t get concussions because there was nothing about them in any of the aliments listed. Sypha resigned to the human side of things, pulling out a very thick encyclopedia from the bottom of the pile. As opposed to the other texts, she seemed to know what she was looking for.

“‘ _Concussions are a type of traumatic brain injury, often due to a cranial impact against a hard surface whether it be a floor, debris such as rocks, or a projectile._ ’”

Now that he though about it, he got slammed around _a lot_ during the battle with his father. Obviously, he could heal from most of it, but the human brain is delicate. And, Sypha was right—he had no idea how his body worked in comparison to normal humans or vampires most of the time.

“Ah, there’s more information here.” Sypha looked up and focused her attention on him. “Do you know what year it is?”

It was a simple question, but Alucard found he had no answer. His brain ground against his skull trying to find where that memory was stored, but it never came to him.

“I know it is some time within the 1470s.” 

“But, you don’t remember the exact year?” 

“I can’t recall,” he said, wincing.

“Are you in pain?”

“My head—it’s been feeling as though it’s splitting open lately.”

“Yes, that is another symptom listed here. It’s the most common, in fact. Have you been experiencing anything else abnormal?”

Too many things to count. Everything felt wrong.

“Lethargy. Dizziness. Disorientation. Nausea and vomiting. And—seeing and hearing things.”

“So, you are hallucinating?”

Alucard frowned, “That, or this castle is haunting me, which would also be appropriate.”

He stole a glance at Trevor who had allowed worry to creep into his expression while he thought no one was looking.

“You fit the diagnostic criteria almost perfectly. Although I’m not a doctor, I would say that it’s highly unlikely that it could be anything else.”

He stared at the pile of books next to Sypha that had been all but useless.

“So, what are the treatment options?”

“Rest, mostly. Taking care of the body: eating well and not exerting yourself the first few days after the incident.”

His frown creased into his cheeks and forehead. He’d unknowingly chosen the worst time to self-destruct. 

Sypha offered a look of sympathy. “I’m guessing that you did not do any of those things.”

“I did rest. Although, it wasn’t very peaceful. I wasn’t eating well either.”

“I see.” She looked pensive, a hand at her chin, her eyes far away. “I…may be able to try a few things.”

Trevor spoke up for the first time since Sypha had reentered the room.

“Are you going to use some freaky magic on him?”

Both Sypha and Alucard shot him an unamused look.  

“Do you ever think before you speak?” Alucard shot back. He tried to look as annoyed as he could, but it was only because he was relieved that Trevor still was unable to handle any serious situation with grace. It made him feel more at home than any of the last days/weeks/months he’d spent in this castle. 

“It’s not freaky magic,” Sypha huffed. “It’s just magic.” 

Even with their barbed responses, Trevor still looked pleased with himself. He found himself way funnier than anyone else did.

“Anyway,” Sypha continued, “let’s get you out of this room. I imagine it can’t be helping things.”

This time, when he held a big hand and a small hand in his, they were so much more firm. They were firm enough that he could actually feel the leverage that they gave him. When he squeezed them, they squeezed back. When he began to stumble, they caught him before he could fall to the floor.

(Maybe this was real. Maybe he really wasn’t alone any longer. Maybe the ice that encased him could thaw one of these days. It at least gave him the ability to hope, an ability he though he had completely lost at this point.)

 

* * *

 

“This is my mother’s guest room.”

Trevor and Sypha looked around, obviously impressed. It was spacious for a guest room—a large bed, a tea table with chairs, a dresser and a closet all with pink and gold accents and ornate fixtures.

If nothing else, everything looked very expensive. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, she loved to decorate,” Alucard sighed. “I don’t think it’s been touched by anyone in years.” Well, besides that time he had fantasized about the two of them, of course, but he wasn’t going to admit that out loud. 

(Another thing that was still keeping him from believing this was actually happening was that it seemed too perfect. He had wished for this for so long, begged the universe to bring them back and comfort him, that it would make more sense for his broken mind to have snapped in half once again.)

“I see. Is it alright that we use it?” Sypha asked.

“I don’t see why not. Who else would?” 

She gave him a small, sad smile. “Alright.” Climbing onto the bed, she crossed her legs and motioned for Alucard to join her. “You’re going to set your head in my lap.”

Something inside his chest twisted, made his heart thump much too hard.

“What are you going to do?”

“I can try a few healing spells. Normally, they’re not for use on the brain, but it’s better than nothing at all.” 

“Is it safe?” 

“It’ll be safe, but you might feel disoriented for a while. I’m going to be—well, I'm going to try to fix what wasn’t healed due to not being treated right away. I will be up front, though. I have no idea how these sorts of spells work on dhampirs. If it starts to look like I’m doing more harm than good, I will stop.”

None of that seemed very promising, but it wasn’t like he had many options. He looked at Trevor who stood beside him, but all he was able to offer was a shrug. Of course. It wasn’t like he knew anything about magic.

He made his way over to the bed and laid down, his head settling in the crook of her crossed legs. Even just the sensation of the fabric of her clothes touching his skin felt instantly relaxing. They smelled like Sypha, and Sypha smelled like comfort and fresh dew on foliage. Alucard might have even dozed off right then if it weren’t for the slight shock of her cool hands on either side of his head.

“If anything hurts or doesn’t feel right, please tell me.”

“Alright.”

Words that were foreign to him began to unravel from her mouth. It was pleasant, melodic even. Alucard took a deep breath. He had to admit that he felt calmer now than he had probably since he had been awoken from his year long slumber.

But, then, her hands began to feel different. His head started to tingle, causing a shiver to run down his spine. He could handle that just fine, but the sensation only intensified, going from a tingling to a minor vibration. Then, it was a full on whirling, as if he was being swung around the room. Even with his eyes closed, he was dizzy and nauseous. But, it didn’t hurt. It was only unpleasant.

Unfortunately, the feeling kept growing inside him, and he heard himself make a noise—an embarrassing and pitiful whimper—that caused his hands to clench at the fabric of the bed. 

“Trevor,” Sypha snapped. “Give him something to hold onto.” 

One of those large and rough hands unpeeled Alucard's grip from the blanket so he could grip him instead.

“Is it okay?” she asked quietly.

He couldn’t do anything but make another small sound. He could have sworn his head was beginning to float off his shoulders. It started to become difficult to hear the two of them speak. Words fluttered over him until they flew away, and Alucard disappeared into himself.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

When he opened his eyes the first time, everything was murky and twisted up. Clearly, he was not in his right mind. 

He could tell that it was dark in the room. One lamp was burning in the far corner, and someone sat in the chair next to it. He tried to say something, anything, but the words just came out as useless sounds. The one attempt at speech made him feel exhausted.

“Here.” 

Alucard felt his head being lifted.

“You need to keep drinking. I know it’s hard, but it’s necessary.” 

The only thing he could feel was the warm hand on the nape of his neck and liquid wetting his lips and mouth and throat. That was almost too much for him. His brain felt like it was vibrating out of his skull. 

Alucard didn’t know what he was saying, but someone shushed him and said, “Don’t worry. Just sleep.”

He did what he was told. When his head fell back, Alucard felt like his whole body kept going, tumbling down into an inky black sea of cotton and bed springs.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

  

He came to only to find himself in tears.

“—and I’m _disgusting_ —“ he heard himself say, “—how could I have—how could I have done it, I’m a _monster_ —”

“Shhh.” That same gentle hushing came from beside him. It was then that he realized he was laying in someone’s arms. They squeezed him tight, and he felt like he was being stifled by the heat of their body. “Please. I need you to stay calm.” 

“I don’t have anybody anymore—I don’t have anybody—it’s all my fault, I did this to myself—” 

He felt completely delirious. He had no idea where his words were coming from. Sobs felt like they were pouring out from everywhere, and he had no idea where to set up the dams to stop them.

“How could I—how could I deserve you—I deserve to be alone—no one should have to deal with me.”

“Oh, no, Alucard—You know that’s not true, don’t you?” 

“But, it is…it is…why would anyone want to be around me when I’m—when I’m like this—when I’m sad and fucked up—”

At this point, he was crying so hard that he couldn’t get words out. He looked up to try to get the voice to believe him, to plead until he was understood, but the blue eyes that looked down at him were glassy with their own tears. 

“Because _we love_ _you._ We would never want you to suffer alone. And, if you’re sad, it’s not our place to judge you. We want to help you feel better.”

He grabbed a fistful of blue clothing and pressed his face into someone’s chest, choking on feelings that had been banging around inside his skull for so long that they rushed out as if it were possible to vomit words.

That soothing hush told him to relax, and he was pulled down to the bed, arms around him that were so warm that they almost burned. He rested on that chest—cheek to bosom—and even though he was crying, he felt himself begin to fall asleep again.

 

* * *

 

 

 

  

“—need to eat. It’s one of the things that will make you feel better.”

He blinked hard, trying to figure out where he was, what was going on. He was in a bed, and two people sat on either side of him. One was handing him some sort of nourishment. It looked dry and chewy. 

“Sorry, I…”

“Don’t apologize. Here just—”

 

* * *

 

 

The first time he woke up and actually felt somewhat lucid, Alucard was aware that he was very hot and sticky. It was as if the ice inside him had somehow warped into fire and was burning his insides.

His eyes opened. The ceiling was not painted with stars.

Then, the previous events came back to him, and he remembered that he was in his mother’s room and that he had been in a jumbled dream for however long it had been. Well, it wasn’t just a dream, but it felt like it had been.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Alucard turned his head to the side, the sound of his hair rustling against the pillow sounding much too loud in the silence of the room. 

“Trevor…?” 

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” He smiled. Alucard’s chest felt warm in another kind of way, and it made him feel silly. “How are you feeling?”

“Warm.”

“Oh, yeah,” Trevor jumped up and went to the other side of the bed. He peeled off something from Alucard’s forehead and dunked it in a bowl of water sitting on the side table. 

“What are you…?”

“Sypha thought you felt feverish, so we’ve been using compresses and ice water,” he explained and held up the wet cloth that he then squeezed the excess moisture out of. “We’re not sure why you might have a fever, but all of this is sort of experimental anyway, so I would try not to worry about it.”

If Alucard had the energy to worry, he would have, but his body and mind felt heavy, and so he laid there and silently accepted the cold cloth. He didn’t mean to sigh so heavily, but the sensation was welcomed considering he felt like he might melt into the bedsheets and make everything all messy. 

He closed his eyes, but unlike the times before, he did not fall asleep. He was still conscious of how hot he felt, and how cool the cloth was, and how close Trevor sat next to him on the bed. The idea only made him feel even warmer, and—ugh, that was embarrassing. He hated that once he lost his ironclad grip on his own consciousness, it began to flee to parts he wasn’t comfortable with, like how he wanted to be close to people—close to him and her and them.

“Hey, you’re shivering again.”

Alucard opened his eyes. He thought it was impossible that he was shivering because he felt so goddamn hot. He turned his head to see Trevor giving him an uncharacteristically concerned look, one he had worn more in these past few hours than he’d ever seen prior.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I’m looking at you.”

“Shut up, I’m fine.”

The response was a knee-jerk reaction because everyone knew that Alucard was not fine. 

“ _Yeah_ , you look real great, Fangs.”

Instead of dignifying his retort with a response, he rolled over to curl into his favorite position, and the cloth on his forehead flopped onto the mattress. Alucard didn’t really care, especially now that he could feel the chills rising from somewhere inside him.

“Lay on your back and keep this on,” Trevor said, picking up the compress and holding it out for him. 

Alucard shook his head. His hair rubbed against the pillow, and he absently thought that he must have looked positively dreadful. “It’s not working.” 

“I don’t think you have the right to decide what’s working for you right now.”

But, he did feel like he needed something. Something, something, something. He felt terrible, and he just needed something. 

A hand reached out and grabbed a tunic, and then, Alucard was nestled in Trevor’s arms, trying to simultaneously become warmer and cooler at the same time.

If Trevor was surprised or flustered, he didn’t let on. Instead, he stuck the cloth to Alucard’s forehead, and said, “Gotcha.” 

He heard himself let out a hum as the compress once again caused him to relax, except now his head was resting on a sturdy chest and there was an arm draped over his shoulder.

At some point, he must have started to doze off again because he jumped slightly when Trevor spoke up.

“You know we missed you, right?”

Alucard just responded with a lazy, “Mm-hmm…” 

“I hate to hear you talk like that.”

He should have known that Alucard was not with it enough to have this conversation, but when Alucard opened his eyes and tilted his head up, his bleary-eyed expression had to have given it away.

“Trevor, is this real?”

“Yes,” he smiled sadly. “It is." 

“Ah.”

He closed his eyes again, and before he fell asleep, he felt someone kiss the top of his head. If nothing else was real, Alucard hoped that had been.

 


	5. Dragoste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dragoste, n.  
> 1\. love

The first thing he was aware of was that he was close. 

Close? Close to...what? He wasn't entirely sure. His mind still felt a little cloudy, and he was warm, but not the sticky, fever kind of warm that had him sweating buckets before. 

All Alucard knew was that he felt comfortable for the first time in recent memory.

His eyes opened, and he slowly realized he was warm because they were _them._

An arm across a sturdy chest, an ear pressed to a heartbeat. The curve of a body against his back. Legs mixing with his. Feather-like hair tickling the back of his neck. A hand placed gently on his waist. 

Not too long ago, he had prayed that he would somehow end up in this position, Trevor on one side and Sypha on the other. Just the fact that this was happening made it all seem dream-like, but this time he _knew_ it was real. There was no question in his mind that this wasn't a hallucination. Alucard was here in the moment, and the relief of that knowledge brought tears to his eyes. 

Oftentimes, when Trevor and Sypha needed rest and Alucard simply did not feel tired, he would watch them sleep. He wasn't trying to be creepy. He just found something relaxing in how their faces were peaceful and their breathing slowed. They both looked younger when he couldn't see the emotions they held in their eyes. 

This was a little different, of course, as the last time he had been this close to Trevor, they had been battling each other. He'd never been so close to him in such an intimate way, practically laying on top of him, their faces only separated by the distance between his chest and his chin. 

While Alucard felt distinctly less disoriented, there was still a certain twinge in his chest, one he'd grown used to over the days/weeks/months. As he watched Trevor's sleeping face, the twinge expanded and clutched his heart, a mix of sadness and longing—heartbreak. 

When he pressed his ear back over his heartbeat, tears slid down and over the bridge of his nose, slid down his cheek and plopped on Trevor's tunic, he had to ask himself why he was crying. Was it from sadness? Was it from relief? Was it from the realization that he could not deny that the emotions directed towards them were not normal—and he could never have them because they had each other. 

"Hey."

Trevor's voice was still recognizable even when it was covered in a thick layer of sleep. Alucard figured he had not been crying as silently as he thought he was, or maybe he had been trembling. Both options made him feel small and weak. 

Alucard didn't look at him. Instead, he steeled up like he always did, and the dams in his eyes locked. 

"Are you crying again?"

Again? Oh, God. He didn't clearly remember anything during his fever dream that wasn't really a dream, but something told him he probably did and said some things that he would never do or say while in his right mind. 

“No," he lied. 

Trevor let him have that one. 

Alucard hadn't realized that there were two hands resting on his waist until Trevor squeezed him, pulling Alucard into him in a pseudo-side hug. The action struck right at his chest, and Alucard let the other man express affection, maybe? Comfort? Whatever it was, it felt so warm. Trevor's chest felt so comfortable to lay on. 

"How are you feeling?"

_'Slightly awed,'_ was his first thought, but he decided that was not exactly what Trevor was looking for. 

"Better than before."

There was a low rumbling that Alucard could hear in Trevor's chest as he said, "That's encouraging."

"Truly."

That was when the other arm squeezed him, and he was pulled off Trevor's chest and his head landed onto a pillow. The chest he was pulled into was soft, and somehow he fit in every crevice of her body, making him the little spoon even though he was significantly larger than her. Sypha's arms clutched around his waist in a possessive sort of way, which reminded him of how he used to clutch his stuffed animals to his chest as a boy. 

( _You are mine._ )

"You sound much more coherent than the last time you were awake."

Her breath was warm on his neck, and he couldn't help the tiny sigh that passed his lips. 

"Do I?"

Even without seeing her, Alucard could tell she was not wearing her Speaker clothing. Instead, her arms were bare and there was no giant collar poking him in the back of the head. 

"Yes. I'm so glad."

A moment passed where they just laid there, but Alucard wasn't one to take such a situation at face value. 

"You two are affectionate this morning." He hadn't meant to sound skeptical when he said it, but it came out that way.

This caused another beat of silence, but this silence was awkward, like a wave had washed over them and pulled the peacefulness from the room. 

"...We..." Trevor sat up, his eyes nervously flitting between Alucard and Sypha, "...We figured you'd need it."

That was a cryptic response. Alucard raised an eyebrow. 

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Sypha's grip around him grew tighter. 

"We were worried. Some of the things you said—we figured, if anything would help, it would be showing that we care about you."

That response squeezed his chest, made his breath shallow. 

(What did he say? What did he do? He could barely remember.) 

Anxiety wedged itself between his ribs.

"I see."

"Are you okay with this?" she asked carefully. "This arrangement, I mean."

Okay with it? Of course, Alucard was okay with it. He wanted nothing more than to be limbs and warm bodies and maybe even lips and tongues too, but that was just his stupid mind getting too carried away. One thing was clear though: what he wanted more than anything was to not be alone anymore. 

"As long as we can sleep a little longer."

"Of course."

Sure, he was still tired, but he also was extorting affection from them, in a way. He turned to his back and Sypha snuggled under his chin. Trevor haphazardly threw his arm over the both of them. 

It was warm. It was close. It was _them_.

 

* * *

 

They stood on either side of him in case he fell. He had to admit that it felt a little like being patronized, but he guessed it was better than falling flat on his face and risking another injury. It caught his eye that Sypha was wearing a white shirt that wasn’t fitted very well, and he wondered if she was wearing his shirt. He absently thought that it looked good on her.

But, then he shook his head because that line of thought wasn’t helping him stand any faster. His head was still a bit all over the place, he was finding. However, as Alucard went from sitting at the edge of the bed to standing, he found himself solidly on his feet.

“Are you dizzy?”

“No, not at all,” he beamed. “Your magic seems to have worked.”

“Ah, well, I had a feeling it would.” Sypha had a way radiating pride that also affected the people around her, so Alucard felt a little proud, too, even though he wasn’t sure there was anything to be proud of.

With a sigh, he tried to run a hand through his hair, but he realized that it was overly greasy from sweat and just thoroughly unsalvageable without washing it.

“Why don’t we go eat something?” Sypha suggested, and Trevor nodded enthusiastically in agreement, mentioning something about not having had a proper meal in a while.

“I wouldn’t know where to find anything in this place anymore. I haven’t exactly had the energy to look.”

“Oh, that’s okay, we found some canned things in the pantry—” Alucard cocked his head, wondering where there was a pantry or if he’d just knocked it out of his head, “—and we still have some supplies in the wagon.”

He waved his hand in dismissal and said, “Whatever it is you need to do is fine. However, I need to clean myself up. I feel disgusting.”

Trevor shrugged, “We’ll just whip something up while you’re doing that then.”

“You mean, _I’ll_ whip something up,” Sypha snapped back teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Alucard watched them leave, and even just their absence from the room reminded him of how sad he still was, how frustrated he still was, how hurt he still was. Healing the concussion took away his physical instability, but his mind still tumbled with angry and self-deprecating thoughts as he made his way to the bathroom.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd bathed. Time was still not totally clear to him since he’d either been lapsing in and out of a concussed state or been sunk into a murky not-dream, so he wasn’t sure exactly the timeframe, but considering the unacceptable state of his hair, he imagined it was far too long.

Again, he had to admit that feeling clean felt good, especially when he wrapped a towel around himself, but it still wasn’t the kind of good he wanted. He still wanted the good that felt bad because sadness felt tangible and real, while some nebulous _good_ felt barely like anything but tedium. 

This time when he looked in the mirror, he could actually see himself for who he was. His reflection lined up with his mind, but maybe he preferred the two of them disconnected because he didn’t like what he saw.

He didn’t look particularly well. His muscles were stringy, and he was just so pale. It wasn’t until then that he realized how badly he’d deteriorated. He felt embarrassed and betrayed. Maybe he could have avoided all this if he hadn’t been left alone for so long.

(He still had the urge to slice himself open, to shatter this mirror and let his blood spill in the sink.)

It all made him sick to his stomach.

On the bright side, his hair was still beautiful. That had always stuck with him, even in the worst of times.

As he combed oil into his hair, he realized for the first time that he couldn’t see his mother accompanying him anymore. The hallucinations must have gone away after being treated for the concussion.

Alucard set the comb down and lamented that this castle would feel even more empty when there were no ghosts. He leaned over the sink like he was going to vomit, but he only did so because he felt exhausted and stuck. Hopeless.

(If Trevor and Sypha want him to help with stopping another war, he will just end up in the exact same state. Alone.)

Oh well. He had already resigned to being alone for the rest of his life. It surely didn’t matter. Having hope only brought pain. He’d given up on trying to thaw himself, anyway.

 

* * *

 

“Tada! We actually made something halfway decent,” Sypha smiled, beaming with that pride of hers.

They had put together a modest but impressively well-balanced meal. Dried meat, fried potato, pickled vegetables of some sort, a hunk of bread. He had to admit, it did look appetizing. But, as they all sat at the table, Alucard couldn't help but feel that all of this was  _wrong_ because they were sitting where his parents used to and that brought up all sorts of awful feelings inside him.

(They were still gone. That fact remained, and it was something that would never change. It would never change that _he_ was instrumental in part of that.)

Alucard was frustrated with himself because he didn’t want The Bad Thoughts to interrupt their reconciliation, but everything was marred by their absence anyway. He was too afraid to ask how long they'd actually been gone because he knew it was too long, and putting a number on it would only make it hurt that much more.

Maybe he could never recover from their abandonment. Maybe he could never recover from his parent’s death. Maybe this was all for naught and had been from the beginning.

(Maybe he should just give up.)

Yes, they had prepared this as part of their ongoing apology of sorts, but as Alucard sat in his chair and looked at the meal they had made, a familiar feeling of hopelessness came rushing back.

His mind circled back around to his old way of thinking—what was the point of eating when he would just get hungry again later? That wasn’t even to mention that the idea of putting anything in his mouth, especially this food that symbolized their affection, felt too monumental. It felt like too much to accept this gesture when he was still all twisted up inside.

Sypha must have noticed how he grew melancholy because she tilted her head and asked, “What’s wrong? Is it not to your liking?”

“No, that’s not it.” He paused, folding his arms on the table like his mother always told him not to. “I don’t feel comfortable accepting this.”

“What? Why? It’s just food,” Trevor said.

“I—I still feel like you two don’t understand what I’ve been through. You can’t just come back and expect things to pick up right where they left off.”

“I admit, we can’t possibly know what you’ve been through, but—”

“We haven’t even talked about it. You two don’t even know what transpired,” Alucard interjected, annoyance beginning to tinge his words.

Sypha had begun to shrink in her seat, a clearly upset expression replacing one that had been so proud just a few minutes ago.

“That’s…true,” she said. “But, to be fair, we were sort of sidetracked.”

“Yes, but I—I’m still not okay with how long you were gone.”

Trevor leaned on the table with a sort of bored look. “We weren’t gone that long. From the end of summer to the beginning of spring. I think that’s reasonable.”

Something inside Alucard felt like it had snapped in half. From summer to spring? That was around eight months. _Eight months_. He had known that it had been a long time, but to have been left alone in a completely unacceptable state both mentally and physically for _eight months—_ he felt like he might be sick.

“ _What?_ ”

The word came out more like a hiss than a question, enough so that both Trevor and Sypha jumped where they sat. Trevor had instinctively reached for his whip, but he stopped himself before he could grab it.

Neither of them had a response for him, so Alucard continued.

“I’ve had to deal with the guilt and grief and shame of killing my father, my last living family, and just that fact has pushed me to my breaking point. But, not only that, you two _left_. You left so suddenly and so quickly. I had no one. For eight months.”

The two of them sat in shameful silence. They couldn’t deny anything Alucard was saying.

“You mentioned something about that when you were recovering,” Sypha murmured.

He had probably not been as composed at that time considering how much energy he was using to keep himself from breaking down. 

“My mind has convinced my heart that I only deserve to be alone. That my isolation is necessary. That no one could ever love me because if they did, they would meet the same fate as everyone else.”

He didn’t need to say what that fate was. All three of them knew he meant that they’d end up dead.

“And, then, I decided that if this was the life I would be forced to live, then I didn’t want to live it anymore. I still feel the urge to crawl out of my skin and find another body to inhabit. And, then the concussion only made everything worse. Now that I've had treatment, I can see that I haven’t been cured of that sadness that you described, Sypha. I’m an icy well. I’m the cold spot in the room. And, even though I hate the fate I’ve been handed, who am I to force the only people on Earth that I care for to suffer because of me?”

“Alucard, you have to understand, I didn’t mean anything by that comment. Especially not something so accusatory, or judgmental, or—well, just plain mean. I simply was trying to express that I was concerned about you. You always seemed so sad that I—”

“And yet, you left me for almost an entire year,” Alucard frowned, trying to keep his voice controlled. “If you were so concerned about me, then why would you abandon me like that?”

Sypha’s voice had grown strained, as if she was actively trying not to burst into tears. “I promise, it was never our intention to abandon you.”

“How else am I supposed to feel but abandoned? I was just tossed aside while you two romped around who knows where for _eight months_. I get that you fancy each other, but is that truly an excuse? Is that the excuse you want to go with?”

Sypha and Trevor shared another guilty glance.

“It’s not that we didn’t miss you—”

“I don’t care about that. I’m sure you missed me. I’m sure you thought about me—but, I _needed_ someone. I told you that I wanted this place to be my grave—did that not alarm you? Did you think that giving me your family’s hold would keep me from thinking about the trauma of _killing my own father?_ ”

Alucard didn’t mean for his voice to dip so low, to become as hostile as it did, but his sadness was transforming into desperation and anger—( _Please, don’t leave me_ / _Please, I’m so sad_ / _When I’m alone I want to die_ / _Please, please, please don’t leave me_ ).

Trevor spoke up finally considering that one accusation was leveled at him specifically.

“I…do admit that we may have been too caught up in our own affairs to make a rational decision. And, you’re right that it was pretty callous to leave you alone at such a difficult time.”

It was all becoming too much for him, too much, too much—too many emotions, too many feelings, too much, too much, _just too much—_

Sypha broke in, “And, you’re right. We can probably never make up for it. I’m just…so sorry that circumstances played out this way. If I had known—”

It broke out of him all at once.

He slammed his hands on the table.

“You know now!” 

His outburst was too loud, even for this topic, so he took a moment to compose himself before continuing. “I’m _hurt_ , I’m _miserable_ , I’m _lonely_. I’ve lost my family, and I thought I’d lost my friends, as well. I don’t even feel like carrying on, and the only time I did was when I was with you two, but then _you left_. You left me when I needed you most, and it only proved to me how devoid of meaning my life had been until this point—and the only reason I’ve chosen to live is because I’ve deluded myself into hoping that someday you wouldn’t leave me behind, that you could also embrace me, that you could also—”

Words hung on his lips. Those words he didn’t say. But, he had already said too much. In fact, the way he’d said it, the tears hanging on the edge of his eyes, the flushed cheeks of a half-undead human…

Had he just confessed?

Tears slipped down his cheeks, but he didn’t let his expression change. Like this morning, he wasn’t even sure why he was crying. There was so much knotted up inside him—sadness, and anger, and reverence, and _love_ —that he couldn’t even decide what facial expression he should have.

The air of the dining room had turned into honey. It was sticky and sweet and too thick, and it slowly dawned on Trevor and Sypha exactly he was implying.

Sypha was the first one to stand up from her chair and close the distance between the two of them. She knelt beside Alucard, reaching up and cupping his cheek. Her thumb brushed away a tear, but Alucard knew that her hand must have already been wet with tears considering how many he had already let shed. 

“Oh, Alucard,” she murmured. Her expression was so pained. He almost felt bad for causing such melodrama, but he didn’t feel bad because he needed to say it. If he hadn’t, he might have just been left to rot in this damned place for the rest of eternity.

(Or, until he finally decided to kill himself.)

Sypha’s voice was hardly more than a whisper, but something about her accent made the words twist and turn in his mind. 

“Why do you think we don’t also feel that way about you?”

His breath caught for a second, but he forced it back out with vitriol.

“Because you left—you always enjoyed each other more than you did me—I always felt isolated and othered—I knew you two didn’t care about me like you did each other.”

(Always the same. Always the same. Never accepted by vampires. Never accepted by humans. Alone was all he ever was and all he ever could be.) 

“That’s not true,” Sypha insisted, taking her hand from his face and using both of hers to squeeze one of his. “It’s simply not. The circumstances were complicated, and we had different plans and goals, but you’ve always been just as important to us as we have been to each other.”

Some part of him didn’t believe a word she was saying. How could it be possible? This absence, this longing—it shouldn’t have happened if they felt the same way about him. But, Sypha’s eyes looked almost panicked with how sincere she was trying to look. He glanced at Trevor who had been spectating, but his line of sight shifted to the floor when they made eye contact.

Sypha turned and noticed this, her eyebrows furrowing. Then, she stood up, making a ‘round up’ gesture with her hand over her head. 

“We’re going to have an _adult conversation._ And, Trevor, that means you, too.”

Trevor’s smile was small and lopsided when he said, “Hey, I can be mature when I want to be. I just choose not to.”

As she helped Alucard stand, he couldn’t help but smile even when he was brushing moisture from his cheeks. Trevor really was always an idiot, wasn’t he?

It amused and relieved him more than it should have. That bastard.

 

* * *

 

They sat on the bed in a somewhat circular formation, all crosslegged except for Alucard who always felt like his legs were difficult to position, so one of his legs was bent at knee, letting it point at the ceiling. He used his knee as a place to put his elbow so he could hold up his head, which was feeling slightly fuzzy.

He had to admit that it was quite hilarious how uncomfortable Trevor looked. It reminded Alucard of a child who was having difficulty processing emotions, so they’d just throw something at the person they liked. To be fair, the dhampir wasn’t fairing much better considering his eyes were still glassy from his previous outburst, but at least he was able maintain eye contact for more than two seconds.

“Alucard is right. We can’t apologize and make everything go away. What’s done is done, and we made a lot of mistakes, but the only thing we can do is move forward.”

That was actually a really cohesive way to express his feelings. If they showed him that they did care—well, he might start believing it to be true.

“Which means,” Sypha head snapped to look at the other man in the room, “Trevor. I think you have something to say to Alucard.”

Trevor crossed his arms, hunching his shoulders and pouting. “I absolutely do not.”

“If you don’t, then I will.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Alucard raised an eyebrow. What happened to the ‘adult’ part of the conversation? He was practically throwing a tantrum, and Sypha wasn't exactly setting a good example.

Trevor must have seen the evil glint in her eyes because he relented, “Okay, okay, _fine_. But, you owe me—like—five beers.” 

Sypha smiled, but expertly, she did not promise him anything.

“This must be some extravagant confession you’ve got for me if it’s so difficult for you to say.”

He choked on air, forcing out a pressured, “Well, I mean—it’s not so much a confession as one of the most embarrassing things I’ve done in a long time, and—”

“I imagine you’ve done a wide variety of embarrassing things.”

He pointed at Alucard. “Don’t steal my own lines from me. I’m supposed to be the funny one here.”

“You are not funny. I’m not sure where you got the impression that you are.”

Sypha waved her arms between them, sighing. “Please stop picking at each other. Remember, we’re supposed to be acting mature about all of this.”

The men both sighed and finally made eye contact. It was almost, _almost_ honest. It was almost intimate. But, then, Trevor’s eyes focused down again.

“Okay, first off, don’t you dare let this go to your big head of yours.”

“I hadn’t realized I had a big head, but…alright.”

“And, second, if you tell anyone about this, you die.”

Alucard was getting more curious and more uneasy by the second.

“Okay, so look. Sypha and I—I mean, yeah, you know we’re into each other, and so obviously, eventually one thing lead to another and—”

“Belmont, I do not want to hear about your sex life.”

Trevor was becoming bright red, but he tried to cover it with frustration. “I’m trying to tell a story, Blood Boy. It has to do with you, so keep your smart ass comments to yourself, and let me tell it.”

“Oh?”

Hm. Interesting.

“So, one of those times, uhhh, well instead of—y’know—it being Sypha’s name I said—”

Alucard pressed a hand to his own chest, a large grin blooming on his face. “You fantasize about me while you’re copulating with Sypha? I’m flattered, Belmont. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“It was one time!” Trevor exclaimed, his hands going into the air. “And, God, never say ‘ _copulate_ ’ again. That makes it sound even worse.”

At this point, Sypha had completely lost her shit, giggling like a school girl. Still, she somehow managed to add, “The only reason I didn’t kill him was that he promised me he’d tell you eventually.”

This was all very amusing, but once it all settled into his brain, it made him feel strange. Not unhappy, but not happy. He felt strangely nervous.

“So, is this an elaborate way for Trevor to admit he’s attracted to me?”

“More or less,” Sypha grinned. Trevor was trying his best not to burst into flames. “However, I’m mature enough to admit that I, too, have feelings for you without having to surround it with an embarrassing anecdote.”

All this information went in one of Alucard’s ears and out the other. It was a bit too shocking for his still slightly addled mind to process.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand.”

Sypha pressed her hands to her heart when she said, “We are inviting you, Alucard—” she reached out and took one of Alucard’s hands, “—to also be a part of our relationship.”

Alucard blinked. The only response he could manage was a small, “Oh.”

“So, I don’t want to hear any of this talk of being all alone and no one caring about you. Because _we care_ , Alucard. We care so much about you. I’ve been so sick with worry since we returned and saw how poorly you had fared. And, I know it is partially due to our absence that your deterioration was so extreme, but we want to make it up to you by spoiling you until you’re sick of us.”

Considering how horrible he had felt before, the warmth in his chest felt foreign. Before, it would only flit around in his chest when they got too close before, but now this felt like—

This felt like love.

The situation had clearly been planned to a certain extent because they both descended upon him, Sypha’s question coming out as a whisper, “Can we kiss you?”

His response was instantaneous. 

“Yes.”

Like the silly children they were, they each kissed one of Alucard’s cheeks, knocking him back down on the bed, peppering his face with chaste kisses that were similar to the ones his mom would tease him with when he was very small. A sound that was suspiciously similar to a giggle bubbled out of him before he could shove it down.

After a few more moments of teasing him, they settled into a cuddle pile of sorts, limbs all tangled, unable to tell which hand was whose or if it was Trevor or Sypha who was nudging their foot against Alucard’s. It didn’t really matter because he was surrounded by that warmth, that warmth that was distinctly them.

Them. Them. _Them_.

There was a hand on his chin, and Alucard’s head was turned so Sypha could look into his golden eyes. Her smile was soft as she traced her fingers up the side of his face and into his hair.

“I promise we won’t leave you again,” was all she said before she kissed him.

Sypha's lips were soft and tasted sweet, like licking up what had leaked from a bite of a peach. She was spring and summer, water and fire, delicate and strong. She was the wind that blew through the trees and made everything smell like it was going to rain. The way her kisses were small and kind made Alucard wonder if she was trying to wordlessly apologize, trying to make him feel the closeness that he so desperately had been yearning for over these many months. And, maybe a little piece of him did forgive her if the tiny sound that escaped him was anything to go by. He was still angry and still sad, but it was hard to think about that when such a beautiful woman was treating him so kindly.

He made another sound, this one more short and surprised because Trevor had begun kiss at the nape of his neck. The sensation of both of their lips on him was a bit strong for someone who had been recovering from a severe and untreated concussion, which caused him to shutter.

“I know you said you were going to spoil me and all, but this is a tad overwhelming,” he said into the centimeters that separated him and Sypha.

“Ah, sorry about that,” she apologized, pulling back.

Without saying anything, Trevor was suddenly above Alucard who looked up and over his shoulder with just a little surprise in his expression. They hung there in that space for a few moments before Alucard rolled to his back and smiled just enough that the tips of his fangs were showing. He secretly hoped his hair was splayed out around him because he particularly wanted to see Trevor squirm. It was just too fun of an opportunity to pass up.

“What are you waiting for Belmont? Are you scared?”

Trevor snorted, “I’m not scared of anything.”

“Except for saying the wrong name in bed, I’m assuming.”

“Shut up. Doesn’t matter much now because I’ve got both of you.”

Alucard had to admit, that sentence hit him a little harder than he’d been expecting. His entire body felt feverishly hot.

“I don’t really think I’d like to be called Sypha in the throws of passion—”

“God, why are you such a prick?”

“It’s the company I keep.”

There was a lull in their banter, and then they were smashed together in that sort of raw passionate power that they both sustained during battle. 

(They did not notice Sypha moving out of the way because she wasn’t about to be caught in the middle of their lover’s quarrel, not when there were sharp nails and fangs involved. But, also she’d been waiting to watch them make out for a long time, so alls well that ends well.)  


Trevor felt nothing like Sypha—he was rough and desperate, grip strong and lips demanding. Her kiss had felt like comfort while his felt like a challenge, a challenge Alucard desperately did not want to lose. Almost immediately, he felt his lips parting instinctively as if he was experienced in this type of thing—well, Trevor probably was, but Alucard wasn’t, not really.

Trevor seemed to like that he had relaxed into what wasn’t quite submission, but Alucard was clearly letting him call the shots. 

Honestly, he had to admit, it wasn’t that bad to let Trevor do what he wanted, at least as far as this was concerned.

Trevor seemed to be on the same page because when a hand crept under Alucard’s white shirt, he groaned into his mouth, and Trevor also made a sound, and—God—

(He’d never really let himself think about it before, but Trevor was extremely attractive—lest he apply the label of sexy to such a buffoon—and this type of interaction had only managed to infiltrate the front of his consciousness when he was feeling particularly desperate, but it was electrifying, especially when Trevor began to bite down on his bottom lip—)

Before he could figure out what was happening, Alucard used his strength to flip him over so now Alucard had him pinned down to the bed.

“Don’t get too carried away, Trevor,” he said between heavy breaths, deliberately using his Christian name and a soft tone. He felt wild, having to hold back his natural inclination to lunge at his sweet smelling throat. “You don’t want to get teeth involved when we all know who would be bested in that situation.”

Trevor also heaved beneath him, ready to come back with a snarky retort, but his cocky malice fell away suddenly. 

“Whoa, hey.”

He must have seen his eyes lose focus before Alucard could feel it, but his arms buckled and he found himself laying on Trevor’s chest, his eyes having a difficult time staying open.

“Alucard?” Sypha asked.

“Sorry—dizzy,” he murmured, rolling off of the other man and onto the mattress. Alucard had to consciously slow his breathing because he was breathing too hard. He’d probably over oxygenated his blood because his body was not yet ready to do strenuous physical activity.

It sucked that making out was included in that, but Alucard would take chaste intimacy over being concussed any day.

The two of them asked if he was okay (he was), asked if they could lay next to him (they could), and if he felt better than he had earlier (he did).

“I’m not sure if I deserve this sort of overindulgent affection," he admitted softly.

Sypha’s fingers played with the hem of Alucard’s shirt.

“It’s not a matter of deserving,” she said, pressing her ear to his chest like he’d done to Trevor that morning. “Love isn’t deserved. It just is.”

“That’s a hard notion to accept.”

“Just shut up and accept our goodwill,” Trevor smiled, draping an arm over him. He liked doing that, didn’t he? Maybe it made him feel like he was protecting them.

Alucard could have called himself the happiest person in the world if not for the fact that he’d have to deal with falling back down into his mind eventually, but at least for this moment, he was at peace. 

“We love you, Alucard.”

He was with her, he was with him, he was _them_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's done! woo! i'm thinking of making this a series (as in reflecting about the characters after the season 2 finale) because I already have an idea for trevor so....i'm not making any promises, but it could happen. anyway, thank you so so so much for all your wonderful comments there is nothing the cures my depression more than kudos and comments. i love you all. see you on the flip side uwu


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